


If the Heavens ever did speak

by RintrahRoARS



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Bodyswap?, Canon-Typical Violence, Episode Ardyn DLC, Identity Issues, Other, POV You Are Ardyn, did i say mild? oh well, events are slightly canon divergent, general confusion, just all of it, mild reader/Verstael I GUESS, premise is Obviously canon divergent, reader is gender neutral but everyone uses he/him because..., welcome to my twisted mind
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-11
Updated: 2021-02-04
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:01:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 22
Words: 77,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25196611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RintrahRoARS/pseuds/RintrahRoARS
Summary: You wake up surrounded by armed soldiers, with a strange man enveloped in a blinding light growling in your ear. You're taken to an empire research facility where a strange man performs experiments on you. You are Adagium, a mythical monster from days long past. Or are you?summary/tags under contstruction sorry lol
Comments: 48
Kudos: 59





	1. M.E. ???

When you came to your senses, there was nothing around you but open air. You probably should have felt more concerned about this, but it seemed natural, almost peaceful. You floated in the space as if in water, as if the air were a thick, but fully breathable jelly. 

What was this place? 

There were stars, but it didn't look like any photos of space you had ever seen--the sky was still deep, navy blue, and there was nothing else to be seen but distant stars. 

No familiar sun, no moon. 

No Eos. 

That concerned you a bit more than your whereabouts did. Still, a lazy contentment settled over you. The only danger was boredom.

A light shined up ahead, drawing your attention. Perhaps it was because there was nothing else around, but you felt yourself drawing closer to it of your own will, half hovering, half swimming towards the curious light. 

Your hand reached out, feeling somehow alien as you moved, to touch the light that was now within arm's length. 

The moment your hand made contact, something intense pulled, starting at your hand, but quickly pulsing outwards to the rest of your body. The light grew much brighter, blinding you temporarily. You waved your hand, as if shooing away a cloud of smoke. When the light dissipated, you saw another figure across from you in your returning vision. 

Your eyes were still unfocused, but you were slowly starting to make out your own features across from you, as a mirror image. It didn't fully occur to you that your movements as you stared at your reflection didn't fully match your own. The reflection placed a hand on its own chin, but you hadn't done the same. It seemed irrelevant to you. 

The fog in your mind felt as though it was thinning, but you only just began to think that this might be the strangest dream you've ever had. It wasn't that strange, exactly, but that's what felt so unusual about it. There was nothing but you and your reflection, hovering in place. A feeling of disconnection flashed into your mind, but it was a comfortable one. 

You turned your face away from your reflection, only looking through the corner of your eye. There was nothing wrong with your body, but you felt that distinct disconnection in the waking world as well. It brought you no joy. You took no pride in it, but it was yours. It might as well have been someone else's, it made no difference to you.

Just as these thoughts started running through your head, your reflection reached out its hand to you, a motion that caused you to freeze with anticipation. The reflection’s right hand brushed yours, grasping it with a smug look. Its eyes flashed up to you, an otherworldly gold overtaking them before you blink and they were back to their normal color. 

“Forgive me, but I believe I’ll be borrowing this for a while,” said your reflection. “But don’t worry, I won’t abandon you here. Hey, what say you to a trade? Oh, please say yes.”

Before you could say anything at all, your reflection joined its other hand with your already clasped hands.

“Consider this a loan,” it said, a lazy purr entering your voice. 

An black ooze formed from your clasped hands that began to fully engulf your hand. It bubbled as it spread, covering your arm. Your mouth gaped, and you looked up at your twin with a confused expression, though you felt no cause for alarm. Despite the slime quickly enveloping you, you felt completely at peace. 

“Keep it warm for me, dear, won’t you?” asked your reflection, turning away from you. 

The ooze tickled at your skin strangely, but it didn’t hurt. Turning your hand over to inspect it, you held it up to your face. Something seemed to urge you on, to allow it to spread unhindered. You joined your hands together, meshing your fingers as it spread to the other. 

Both hands fully covered, you dragged them down your face, smearing the substance across your skin and covering even your vision in an inky blackness.

And then everything was dark.

* * *

"--ve," a voice cut through the darkness, now replaced with a blinding light. 

Your eyes shuttered open. The sudden change forced your eyes to adjust, but only enough that you could see figures rushing around you, past the light. Someone's hands grabbed at you - multiple hands? - and you felt yourself fall to the ground at last. What had been holding you up? Your aching wrists gave you a clue. Everything around you was pitch black, unlike the space in that quickly fading dream, but now you knew you were back in the real world, though nothing was familiar. 

"Just as the ancient texts told," the voice laughed. 

A groan left your lips as you were supported by two men on either side of you, the sound weaker and raspier than you expected. Your mouth was painfully dry. 

"Don't... Don't touch me," you gasped, heaving your chest as if regaining the ability to breathe. 

"Take him away," said the man before you, his face still concealed almost entirely by the shadows as you were forced to your feet.

You could see the night sky outside. Had the light truly just been the full moon all along? You had never seen a moon that bright before.

Your legs felt numb as the men on either side of you forced you to walk, each carrying one of your arms. Their armor rattled with each movement and gleaned in the moonlight, startling you even further. Where the hell were you? Who were these people?

The uniforms weren't familiar, and they weren't from Lucis. Their garb mimicked chainmail of old, similarly wearing huge bucket helmets with just a visor to see out of. 

You passed your captor on shaking legs that threatened to give out, and moments later _did_ , as the guards carrying you didn't seem to want to give you the chance to regain your own footing. Your legs dragged against the ground uselessly, too weak to struggle as you were still not fully awake despite your fear and confusion.

The only military force you knew of worth any mention was the Empire's own army, and admittedly you had never seen an Empire soldier up close before, but they rarely bothered Altissia, even though Accordo was really just a puppet state. Come to think of it... None of your surroundings looked anything like Altissia either. 

The moon reflected off sandy blue crags surrounding you as you were pulled along, a buzzing in your ear too loud to make out much of the chatter of the soldiers around you.

"Ready the medical team for arrival."

That much you heard, but you realized quickly that you didn't care where you were, only where you were going, and when you tried to ask, a soldier trained a gun on you. 

You eyed the rifle somewhat blearily, but you said nothing more as you passed them. Your voice scarcely worked, and there was nothing worth saying worth risking your life for before you even had a chance to understand what was happening.

A shout was heard ahead of you, and new figures arrived on the scene, though these ones dressed head to toe in black with double rows of brass buttons, with some kind of head covering that hid their faces. They were all armed, though they carried different weapons to each other, which manifested in their hands as if by magic. 

_Kingsglaive...?_ The soldiers at your sides dropped you suddenly, your face slamming against the dirt as you fell. You lifted your head weakly, suddenly aware of how chilly it was outside now that your face and arms were covered in scrapes. You pulled your hands to your sides, afraid as the soldiers and the Kingsglaives fought, they might not be so careful where they stepped.

The soldiers were no match for the magically enhanced Kingsglaive, and when you pushed yourself to your feet, you were the only one standing. And the Kingsglaives had their weapons pointed at you.

This was, perhaps, a bad time to notice that your hands were not the ones you knew, and the reason you were so cold was because you were completely shirtless, and your torso didn't look anymore familiar to you than anything else around you. "What...?"

 _"Adagium sighted!"_ one of the glaives shouted, just before advancing at you with their sword drawn.

You didn't know what Adagium was, but you threw yourself back to the ground before any harm could come to you, forcing yourself to roll to one side to avoid the boot of the glaive standing over you. 

The others started to move in as you tried to pull yourself back to your feet, a nausea building in your stomach. 

You were too slow.

As you rose to your feet, something had pierced your side, itching as though you had nicked your finger with a kitchen knife, rather than a sword buried in your skin. 

The realization of the sword embedded in your body sent you over the edge. You roared from pain and rage, a cracking, but guttural sound that caused the previously cocky glaive to stumble back from you, swordless. 

You grabbed the hilt of the sword, against your better judgement, acting just on instinct to remove the weapon at all costs. No sooner did the tip of the blade exit your wound, the sword vanished from your grasp and returned to its owner. But looking down, your wound had also vanished before a single drop of blood could be spilled. You touched the place tenderly, ignoring the hardened feeling of this midsection that was attached to you as you searched for the entry point of the sword. There was nothing, not even a scar, though it was obvious the flesh had been marred before. A similar tingling was taking place now in your leg as you became aware of another Glaive shooting at you. 

Enraged, and empowered as you swiveled around to glare at the one with the crossbow (the guard shrank back in fear at the sight of you), you lunged at them, throwing your weight at them with wildly swinging arms until they collapsed. It felt like something was unleashed in you, and the soldier with the sword started to scamper away from your grasp.

Something lodged itself in your thigh before you could pursue the crossbow, a lance, which you gripped so tightly that it seemed to evaporate, but what you felt was another story. No, rather than disappearing back to its wielder or even being destroyed, you could feel it within you, somehow. Something raw told you to try and summon it yourself, and as you did, the lance reappeared in your hand, the pain in your leg already gone.

It wasn't as though you knew how to use a lance, and your body was still recovering, but that rush of adrenaline was back, fueling you entirely as you skewered the Kingsglaive in front of you. The motion, these feelings didn't feel like yourself, but they did feel good. Something in you felt satisfied as you acted, overcoming your initial fear. 

The body hit the ground with a thud, and you used your foot to hold them down while you removed the lance, swinging it at the other two remaining guards next.

You closed the distance between yourself and the enemy before you even realized you had moved, and one by one they fell. Even as two more arrived, they fell more easily than the first three. For whatever reason, you were their only concern.

"I'm not letting you leave this island, _Adagium,_ " spat a new voice.

You turned, and looking towards the new arrival, one with a long, mean looking sword, you saw the sea. You were unsure where that left you, but it was indeed an island. But that no longer concerned you.

Another cry from your throat, and you threw aside the lance, charging at full speed towards the man with the sword, your feet once again carrying you faster than you expected as you slipped behind him. You swung with your right arm at him from behind, beating him until he staggered on his feet. And then you did something that stopped you long enough to be shocking, even in your frenzy.

You placed your hands on the man, one gripping his shoulder, the other on his chest, forcing him to stumble to the ground. Power bubbled up from somewhere inside you, and began to ebb from your hands, while something else flowed back into you. The man was dying, giving his life freely to you, and his body began to seize, spitting and snarling ferally as he pitched his fit, but you didn't release him. 

No, before your eyes, you could see the city of Insomnia, a place you had only been to once before, but now could see as clearly as day. In the back of your mind, you recognized these to be the man's memories, though how you knew that, you weren't sure.

Before you, the man went still. A black smoke had covered him, and your vision returned just in time to begin swimming instead. The human form was gone, oozing some kind of black slime that seemed to replace his very being. Your head felt foggy, and without warning, so incredibly heavy. Was this... A _daemon?_ Had you done that to him? You'd seen them once or twice, they were afraid of the light and stayed away from the city, but there had been increasing numbers of sightings, photos. Attacks were only uncommon because people stayed out of the streets at night. 

Here in the pale moon, you had _created_ one.

You looked at your hands, strangely long and rougher than you remembered.

The man who ordered you captured earlier spoke again. Was he still here? 

"Incredible!" he said in disbelief, but with a laugh. "This power is unbelievable!"

You could only make out his face for a moment before you lost yourself again, falling against the dust and into unconsciousness once more. The power, and your energy had faded, leaving you with nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone, I'm inebriated at the time of posting. Not sure what possessed me to write this, or to what end, but I'm still going apparently! Too bad for you.


	2. M.E. 721-XI-00

You awoke, gasping for air and soaked to the bone. Your surroundings were not much better than what little you had seen of the cave that you first found yourself in, before you were rushed away. The man from the island must have brought you here himself when you passed out. 

Your memory felt foggy... What had happened right before you fell unconscious? 

There was no time to think about that, for you were being stared down by a guard in white chainmail, another member of the army that had woken you, you guessed. In one hand he held an empty bucket.

You trembled from the cold, and tried to stand, but there was only enough room to pace the tiny metal cell you were now occupying, only a bench against the back wall, while you leaned against the side. Your hands had been bound once again, to your bitter frustration.

"Adagium," the soldier said, addressing you.

"Me...?" you asked. 

It was a stupid question, really. You had heard the Lucian soldiers refer to you by it, but it wasn't a word you were familiar with. As such, the soldier didn't answer.

The open door in front of you looked promising, and despite your chills you tried to stand, only to realize you had been left completely naked in the cell. 

The soldier placed a stack of clothing on the bench, then turned away. "Dress yourself, then follow me."

"My bonds...?" you asked, showing the shackles that chained you to the wall. You still felt as though you couldn't clear your throat, as if you had been parched since the moment of your birth at least, but the voice that resonated from your chest was not your own, you could hear that now.

The soldier turned with obvious reluctance, but it was true that you could not comply unless you were free. He was... Afraid. After what you had done to the Lucian soldiers, you weren't sure you blamed him. 

He stepped back from the cell, pressing a number of buttons that sounded like entering a code on a number pad, and the door shut. A moment later, the cuffs released on their own.

You were alone with this body, in this strange place. You were certain your captors were from the empire, though what they wanted with you, you couldn't guess. But clothing yourself would make you feel much more comfortable in this new skin.

There was no mirror, and though the guard outside was like to become impatient, you took a moment to inspect yourself. There were those long hands again, a little knobby at the knuckles, and your skin a dull, pale tone that was immediately unfamiliar. You grasped at the garment on the top of the stack, a pair of boxers which you were immediately grateful for. Those went on without a fuss.

You got the feeling that you were taller than you had been before awaking like this. The clumsiness you felt could have been fatigue just as easily as a magical growth spurt, but there was no way to tell inside the confines of the cell. 

Your legs were lean, just barely bordering on scrawny. This was not a well maintained body, you considered as you pulled on the dark black trousers that had been brought for you.

All that was left was an undershirt, and a loose tunic. You placed the stranger's hands against your chest, looking down at yourself. Under either pectoral, the skin was rougher, raised and white, like an ancient wound. You traced the scar tissue across your flat chest in a clean line from the outside, under your arms, inwards to almost the center of your chest, incredulous. Your flesh had mended itself nearly the moment it had been pierced by Lucian blades, so these scars must have been very old indeed, but deliberate.   


You extended one arm to its full reach as you stared, flexing the muscles of your hand. These hands had bloodied more than one human in your recent memory, and... Turned another one into something  _other._

The shirt went on, constricting wet hair to the back of your neck, and then the tunic, which buttoned loosely over the whole outfit. Deep crimson hair was pulled away from your neck, removing the unpleasant sensation. You took a handful of it to study your locks, noting the texture. It was damp, but you could tell it was likely to only become curlier once it was fully dried.

All in all, you realized as you pulled the boots over your feet, none of the clothes had been made for you. Which did bring you some comfort, as that meant your captors were no more familiar with your body than you were. The boots were heavy, and thudded against the metal floor as you stepped in them precariously.

You knocked on the door with one hand once you were finished.

It opened again, and before you could say anything, a new pair of cuffs was placed on your wrists, this time in front of you. No doubt this was a precaution, more than a punishment.

You slouched just a little as you stood, lifting your head to look sheepishly at the soldier before you, awaiting instruction.

"Chief Besithia requests your presence at once," was the only explanation you received, and you were clearly expected to follow as he clicked his heels, then turned sharply down the narrow hall.

The building was nearly all hallways, and though you felt better than you had after first waking, you didn't care for the distance you were covering. 

Besithia... Besithia... That was a name you recognized, an Empire name for sure. You were walked past a long window, displaying a snowy mountainscape that was just a little too close to feel like anything less than a prison. You shied away from the light that leaked in instinctively, but clearly this place was a very long way from Accordo.

You had heard the name Besithia on the news before, you were certain. He was a reclusive figure in Niflheim, but an important one. A gnarled, aging man, responsible for... Some kind of research? For some reason you couldn't quite recall, even though you had only seen the piece days ago. Niflheim's technological advances in magitek were world famous, especially in empire occupied nations. Though you had little contact with these advances yourself, that was probably where the name had come up.

Finally, the hall ended, and you were led past the threshold of a door unlike any room you'd seen so far. Inside the atmosphere was lush and ornate. A warmly lit table was in the middle of the well-decorated room, and on it, a feast that made your eyes flash with a sudden hunger. _When was the last time you had eaten?_

"Come, have a seat," said the man sitting at the table, unnoticed by you until now.

The voice was familiar.

You eyed him as you complied, studying the outline of his face. His features were a bit boyish for the tone of his voice, apart from the creases at the corners of his eyes, but there was no mistaking this was the same man from the island. The only one who survived, to your knowledge. 

"Unbind him," said the man, gesturing to the table as he reached for a shining golden champagne flute.

"Sir, are you certain?" 

_"Unbind_ him," he repeated, craning his head just a little. His lips had not yet reached the glass, but he appeared quite annoyed that he had been interrupted.

The guard returned to your side and did as he was bade, removing the thick metal bands from your arms, then scurried back to his post beside the door. 

The repeating floral pattern of the seafoam wallpaper was soothing, but not enough to make you feel like you were more than a prisoner. Though, would a prisoner really be treated to a meal like this? _Only if they were about to meet their demise..._

"What do you take to drink?" the man, your host, offered.

You glanced at the flute in his hand, but your mind was only on one thing. "...Water."

He waved his hand, and one of the guards excused themself, returning with a similarly golden pitcher. They started to pour into the glass beside you, but your hands shot out, instead taking the pitcher from them. The guard backed off, too startled to stop you.

The side of the pitcher went to your lips at once, and you felt your lips crack as you opened your mouth to drink, uncaring as some of it dribbled out of your mouth uncouthly. It was unavoidable, your thirst was agonizing, and at long last it was over. Time seemed to stop as you drank, aware that the man beside you was still watching. When you finally returned it to the table, the pitcher was nearly half emptied.

The man watched with an amused twinkle in his eye, and then began serving himself from the feast in front of you.

"Go on. Eat your fill," he said, almost softly, though you felt something in his tone that was more than a little unpleasant. "It's been quite some time since you've had a decent meal, I'm sure. A fast that spans two millennia... You must be starving."

His eyes never left you, even as you did indeed begin filling your plate, and they were not kind eyes.

A bit of dark meat from some kind of poultry found its way to your plate, as well as some roasted vegetables. "Try the lamb, as well. If I hadn't created the cloning process used to create it right here in this lab, I would say it was divine."

Cloned meat? You looked at the spread again. The idea of eating it didn't scare you, but something about him was unnerving. It was difficult to place, and even though you did as suggested, you did not eat. Your hands returned to a folded position in your lap, rubbing your tender wrists as you stared at your plate as if it was poisoned.

"I expected a man such as yourself to be more... Pious, considering what little we know of your history," he said, gesturing with one hand as he set his champagne aside. "What might I call you? I'm sure you must be tired of being referred to by the moniker given to you by the Lucians... Adagium."

A name popped into your head, and you cleared your throat at last, relief washing over you for the second time as your hand went to your Adam's apple to aid the difficulty with which you still spoke. "Ardyn." As you spoke, another name appeared, though this one didn't feel the same as the first, as if your disorganized thoughts were a grand forum, and though the first voice to answer was your own, the second was decidedly not. "Izunia...?"

"Verstael Besithia. If we are to understand one another, you may call me by my first name, if it pleases you," said Verstael, waving his hand. "In turn, I hope you don't mind if I inform you that I am aware of your true name already, Ardyn Lucis Caelum."

Your head ached suddenly, and the hand that had previously been on your throat flew to your head as a gasp escaped you. "Lucis... Caelum?"

The Lucian royal family's name was no secret, but it didn't fit you. In fact, hearing the two names together gave you the sensation of nails scratching on a chalkboard, something you were certain Verstael had caused on purpose, utterly repulsing you. "No, no. No. Just Izunia, will do."

"No?" asked Verstael, raising his pointed eyebrows at you curiously. "Yes, I suppose, to simplify things, Izunia will do. That saves me the trouble of having to bestow a name to you myself for recordkeeping purposes."

You stared back at him silently for several moments, neither breaking eye contact.

Finally, you sighed, and your hand hovered near a basket of bread rolls, which you reluctantly took, tearing a small piece off to eat delicately. This might be all you could stomach after all.

You looked at Verstael again, thinking about the news piece you had seen again. Empire propaganda wasn't uncommon even in Accordo, it occurred to you, you had definitely seen this man's photo before, but...

"Besithia," you murmured, still growing used to the sound of your own voice. "A moment ago, you said 'two millennia.' What... What year would that make it?"

Another odd look, but not a surprised one. "Ah, yes. You've been asleep for nearly two millennia, until I awoke you two days ago. It would be more surprising if you hadn't lost all sense of time. It is currently the Modern Era, year 721." 

You stopped picking at the bread to stare at him again. Somehow you had less trouble processing the idea that you had been slumbering for two thousand years than the fact that the actual year itself.

"I'm sorry, did you say 721?" 

Verstael nodded briefly and began to explain to you the current calendar system, but his voice was promptly tuned out. That wasn't information you were missing. There would be no chance to find out whatever current events you had forgotten, as the last date before you had woken up like this had been the year 756. No wonder you had confused this man's age- he _had_ been an old man. You drummed your fingers lightly as you realized Verstael had finished speaking, turning your eyes away again.

"That aside... What is it you want with me?" you asked finally. Best to move on from that.

At this, Verstael chuckled. "What a thing to ask. You sit beside me at my dinner table, a mythical marvel in the flesh, in my lab."

Creasing your brow slightly, you resume picking apart the bread. Your thoughts flashed briefly to the display you had shown what had apparently been two nights ago. Though you couldn't fathom where that power had come from, it was probably the reason you were here. 

"Humor me, please. It's... Been a long time, you know," you said, using your situation to your advantage as an excuse. "There is much I don't understand."

Though it really wasn't a lie.

Verstael set his fork on his plate for a moment, studying you as closely as ever. "Don't you think it's a novelty, Mr. Izunia? To find an ancient tome with a legend detailing exactly where to find the closest thing to divinity walking among humans, and not only that, to discover that legend really exists? That alone ought to pique some curiosity in even the dullest man's mind. Now that I've found you, I'd like to first take things a step further and study you. Your demonstration of your power, while unplanned, was more than I could have hoped for in such a find. You survived in Angelgard for two thousand years, and when the Lucians attacked you, you scarcely even bled."

A sinking feeling settled in your stomach, as if the bread roll had actually been a stone. "You mean to test the limits of this body?"

"Naturally," he said, a proud nod as he lifted his champagne to his lips again. "And I wish to understand your power. Under your touch, a man became a daemon, and you fed off of the affliction, it gave you life. The form of a man, while hiding beneath the surface is the nature of a daemon. Doesn't that fascinate you?"

You looked down at your hand again, uncertainly. As if you could still feel the Lucian squirming underneath it as the starscourge overtook him and strengthened you. "I do have some questions of my own. I am... _Hesitant_ to offer my cooperation, but given my current situation, I don't have very much choice. As long as my own curiosity is satisfied as a result, I would like to hear your findings as well."

Could there be such a thing as a man who thrived with this ancient disease? You had heard of people being healed of it by the Oracle of your time, but never of someone who could bestow it on others. 

If that really was the case, you were certain that Verstael intended to weaponize it somehow, though you couldn't imagine what good wiping the population out with disease would do the Empire. What would be left to rule? 

"Then it seems we have an agreement," grinned Verstael, tilting his head with cocky, half-lidded eyes as he looked at you. "I will make your living arrangements a little more comfortable. I hope you'll forgive our initial distrust, but though your new quarters will be larger, you will still be confined to them for the time being while you acclimate."

"Understood."

"If there is anything you desire, if it is in my power to obtain it for you, you shall have it," he added. "As a symbol of my good will."

As a bribe, he meant. But you would take him up on the offer.

"Reading material might be nice. I'm sure there's no shortage of literature here," you said, though it was a bit of a jab.

"I'll see what I can do."

You brushed a long piece of crimson hair out of your face. The length didn't feel unnatural aside from still being slightly damp, and occasionally tickling your neck or shoulders. 

"And something to tie up this hair, if you please."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh yes, btw, I'm taking some liberties with the timeline here because............ Square Enix did too, so. Let me live.


	3. M.E. 722-I-00

Your new quarters had been empty at first, but Verstael had kept his word. The room was still your prison, for a while, but it was quickly becoming a cozy one. Your bed, a real bed, and not just a metal bench, a sitting area, where you occasionally spoke with the scientist between sessions, and bookshelves taller than you could hope to reach without the aid of a ladder. You had been hoping for periodicals, magazines, newspapers, current events, and he had delivered that and more. Most of the books he had donated were research materials, or otherwise non-fiction, but not worthless by any means.

Within some of them were pieces, fragments, clues that told you a little more about a situation that had become particularly pertinent to you. The face that you wore, this body, there was no mention of any Ardyn Lucis Caelum, but reading some of the texts on Lucian histories and myths stirred something in you. A weariness you had never recalled feeling before, mostly. 

A bathroom with some privacy was tucked in the corner, and though you didn’t spend any more time preening than you once did, the mirror was a welcome addition. When you first moved into the new room, that was the first time you had seen your face properly. 

You could feel that your stubble was getting longer without any maintenance, but you hadn’t seen the strong jaw it was attached to, nor the hollow cheeks, the tired, yellow eyes. The thick, arched brows. The tiny, nearly invisible mole under your left eye. It was a face that had seen a lot of wear, clearly, but you had to admit as your fingers traced your jawline, a handsome one. You were provided with basic grooming supplies, a razor included, but you sort of liked the unshaven look, only tending to it every couple of days.

That was the highlight. Apart from your new quarters, you seemed to feel the worse for wear overall. 

Verstael dedicated a small portion of the facility to his studies on your body. It was a spacious warehouse room, with equipment that was moved in and out daily depending on the day’s studies. The chamber could also be observed remotely, if need be. 

At first it was nothing, but quickly became a grueling process. He took samples at first, skin, hair, but found nothing unusual in their composition. Then things got tougher. 

Your pain tolerance was pretty high, so you could take a beating. He pitted you against soldiers in the facility. Instead, rather than display your full strength, you were expected to do very little. Though if you had to guess, however, he would have been equally as pleased if you used your unique ability against them in retaliation. Bullet wounds, stab wounds, burns, magical afflictions… nothing seemed to phase you for long. Your body was nearly indestructible, something that had probably contributed to the condition you had survived in Angelgard.

A constant barrage did slow you, but not for long. Mostly, it only wore you out as your body healed itself before you could so much as blink.

But Verstael was becoming impatient.

“The data I’ve collected thus far can only tell me so much,” he said, sitting across from you on one of the leather loveseats of your room. His boots were propped up atop the table, and he leaned back with a grim look as he stared at you. “I need you to use the full extent of your power.”

“You… want me to create a daemon,” you said, folding and unfolding your hands. 

“Yes, if that is within your power,” he said cynically, lifting his chin to get a better look at you. “I have important eyes on my work. If using my men makes you ‘uncomfortable,’ then perhaps I could give you some of the livestock cloned in this facility to work with. I want to see what you can do.”

It wasn’t an ability you prided yourself on, and in fact, there had been no need for it since the first time you used it by accident. Of course, this was the natural progression expected from the tests performed on you near daily. This was just the first time he had asked outright for your active participation.

“What will you do with them, once I show you?” you asked.

“Does it really matter to you?” 

You considered that for a moment. The only person with any answers was here in front of you, taking up a comfortable amount of space on your sofa, and some of your coffee table. What would you really do if you could leave this place? Did you really even want to? What did you want in exchange?

“I’ll agree,” you said, turning your eyes away from him. “But. If I could, I remember mention of a tome that led you to where you found me in Angelgard. This must seem vain, but I would like to read it.”

Verstael raised his eyebrows at you. “The originals are too frail for me to allow just anyone to handle, but I’ve already transcribed them, so you may see the copies. Does it surprise you that there’s no mention of you in recorded history?”

“Well, not really,” you admitted. It was more surprising that there was any mention at all. It just might have been nice to be able to shed some light on your situation.

Sometimes, when you slept, you dreamed unsettling flashes of a life you shouldn’t recall. Nothing you could remember when you awoke, only blurs of faces. 

“Mmh, you can hardly expect Lucis to admit that their founder king was a fraud who stole the throne from his brother,” said Verstael, dropping his feet back to the rug beneath the sitting area to lean forward again. “What an embarrassment that would be.”

“I’m no king,” you said firmly. To be swept up some sort of royal fiasco was the last thing you wanted. What little you did know was that the Lucians wanted your existence buried for more than one reason, though it was far more likely that it was your power they feared than whatever lineage you possessed.

“No, you’re not. But yes, I can provide the brief history we do have, in exchange for a few daemon test subjects. Does that sound agreeable to you?” asked Verstael, a coaxing, but cruel smile at his lips.

Despite your insistence that it didn’t matter, it did seem important to understand yourself. By the day, you resigned to living this new life. More context was needed than what scraps you had been given.

“Bring me to them,” you said, nodding. 

“Right now?” Verstael asked, his grin widening. “I admit, I hadn’t expected you to be so eager. Come with me.”

He got to his feet before you, and moved to the door, which opened easily for him. You had no such freedom, but he was giving you a taste. It was a precaution, he had said, until you had built a form of trust between each other.

Right now, the door was open and waiting for you to cross its threshold. 

You rose to your feet, following him at a brisk pace.

Nothing in the facility was particularly close together, and you knew the animals were not kept anywhere near the main portion of the facility. Verstael called a few of the soldiers to the usual research chamber to await orders, and you trailed after him.

When you arrived, three men stood by the door inside. Verstael walked you to the center of the room. 

“One of you, over here, now,” he said, pointing.

There was no debate, one of them volunteered at once. The initial fear of your presence had subsided, for the most part. You could tell they were tense around you, but they had become accustomed to these tests. Mainly, because you were certain they enjoyed causing you physical harm, knowing you scarcely fought back unless instructed to do so. 

Verstael stepped away, moving to the observation platform of the warehouse room. The walls of the center part of the room were raised from the floor, forming a cage around the square “arena” you were accustomed to fighting in, where he could easily watch.

You felt an air of unease, though the guard beside you seemed cocky. You had concluded one such test for the day already, and were certain he had mentioned testing your ability on livestock, there was no way he was expecting you to-

“Go on, Izunia,” he said simply. 

“You can’t be serious,” you said, looking at the guard, whose posture had gone from combat ready to inquisitive as well.

“As a heart attack,” growled Verstael.

This was what he was waiting for. What did he expect you to do? You hadn’t used the power intentionally in the first place, could you even muster it now?

“Proceed,” he said, this time addressing the guard.

This soldier wasted no time refocusing his attention to you. He was unarmed, but that apparently didn’t bother him, as he cracked his knuckles cartoonishly. His knees bent, he rushed at you, swinging with one gauntlet-covered fist.

Though any wound you received would heal within seconds, you dodged, stepping across the space to reappear behind him to give yourself more time to think.

Perhaps you had spent too much time training with them, however, because he had already anticipated this. He swiveled around and connected his fist with your chest, though he had been aiming for your face.

You gritted your teeth, pushing back. You could summon your arms to your side and level him quite easily, but that would hardly be a fair fight. Your punches were unguarded, unlike the gauntlets he wore that protected him from injuring himself, but you had learned that a broken hand was far from the worst thing you’d ever experienced. 

You swung a fist at him, once, twice, missing the first, and being blocked the second time. A third time, however, your fist connected sharply with the metal helmet, rattling him against the cage. When had you backed him against the wall of the arena? The impact left an impressive dent in the helmet.

You shook your hand out for a moment, then advanced.

The soldier groaned, then tossed the helmet aside. He was uninjured, and glaring at you with spite and determination.

The short crop of black hair startled you, for some reason. Though the soldier’s face didn’t seem familiar to you, the black hair, the blue eyes, that cruel expression. Something about it just _irked_ you. A blurry face appeared in your mind, and your temper spiked.

You turned your eyes to Verstael with a scowl even as the soldier was preparing to attack you once again. He took advantage of the distraction, and closed the distance between you while you remained and glowered at Verstael.

Before his fist connected, however, you glided behind him once again, gripping his arm to catch him, then putting your other hand directly over his face. 

You summoned a rage in your chest that you had only felt one other time, bubbling as something black and inky seared the man’s face. A sharp inhale through your nose. The rush of the man’s memories was decidedly not an unpleasant one, and scanning them you were even sure the man might have deserved his fate. Who became a servant of the empire for good reason, after all? It didn’t matter now, for the man was no more.

The scourge passed on, you stepped away from him, gladly, and let his seizing body fall to the ground. You folded your arms behind you with a scowl, looking back up at the scientist.

Verstael came down from his perch, but he didn’t lower the cage. He observed the changes occurring in the other man, as the armor was eaten away and consumed by the sludge, his human features slurrying away with it. 

Your head felt a bit foggy after performing the task, but this time you managed to stay conscious. 

“Marvelous,” Verstael purred, standing next to you on the other side of the cage. 

You leaned against the wall beside him, still coming out of your haze. There had been nothing of interest in the man’s memories, but that didn’t stop them from playing out behind your eyelids while you waited. “Satisfied?”

“For now.”

You lifted your head, looking where the soldier stood only seconds ago. The daemon whose form still glowed with that same blackish sludge seemed to take no notice of you, or was perhaps ignoring you. It stumbled, a misshapen, two-legged thing, exploring its surroundings. 

“What will you do with it?” you asked, turning your head in time to see Verstael walking back up the steps to the observation platform. 

“Nothing, for the moment. Call it a trial run,” he answered, adjusting something on the control panel. “I’m going to turn the ultraviolet lights on for a moment to dispose of it, and then I’ll release you."

He had wanted test subjects, hadn’t he? You scowled. 

The massive sun lamps above you were flipped on with a loud mechanical thud. And suddenly, you felt worse than you ever had while experimenting with Verstael before. 

Your skin burned, itching all over as you sucked in through your teeth, reeling from surprise. What the hell was happening? You turned your hands over, staring at them in the blinding light. It stung, and you watched with awe as your skin smoked and sizzled, yet it didn’t seem to be causing you any real damage. As much as it hurt, you could still move. How was this worse than being stabbed through the gut?

Your eyes went to the daemon, who was not faring nearly as well. The beast was collapsing, _melting,_ under the lamp. The daemon you created all but evaporated with a hissing shriek, leaving you alone in the cage with just the smell of your own burnt skin.

The lights were finally shut off, and you felt instant relief, leaning back against the cage for a moment, before you heard something else, and the wall started to lower again. You moved along the side of the retracting cage to lean against the supports for the observation platform, and the clattering of Verstael’s boots down the stairs sounded rapidly without much notice from you.

He rushed to your side, grabbed your left wrist in his excitement, causing you to flinch as he inspected the skin. It no longer burned but still left a residual discomfort. “Not a single scratch, despite exposure to artificial sunlight.”

“It doesn’t sting any less,” you muttered, letting your hand go limp as he studied you.

He held your hand from the base of your palm, turning your hand one way, then spreading the fingers with his other hand. There was no visible sign that the light had ever touched your skin, but his touch did little more than agitate it, tingling when his gloved hand changed positions and the skin was re-exposed to the air.

“Your physiology is human enough, but it seems the light affects you as it does any daemon,” Verstael said, musing, then releasing your hand. “Your regenerative abilities are repairing your cells quickly enough that it simply negates any damage. It heals on its own before the light can cause you any real harm.”

“The result of my affliction, I suppose,” you said. 

Verstael nodded fervently, taking a step back from you as he collected himself. “This miasma has existed in recorded history long before I found you, but finding its vessel… It’s as if it’s a part of your very being.”

Not a comforting thought, but an intriguing one. Verstael was easy to detest, but his ramblings could be insightful.

“Yes, it is,” you said grimly. You understood little of your situation, but once it was spoken aloud, it resonated deeply within you, stirring something that made your head hurt again. Verstael was correct, to the best of your knowledge. Your mind started spitting images at you, vague and confusing. “My… abilities, as a healer. I could remove the scourge, at the cost of absorbing it into my own body…”

“A pittance, for a body like yours,” he said, shaking his head "Daemonic power within the body of a man, but even the sunlight can’t kill you. I can only imagine how this combination came to be possible.”

You shrugged your shoulders, really having no answer for him. “If I knew that myself, I’m sure I wouldn’t be here.”

"It seemed to cause you the most discomfort thus far, but you've been felled by less before," he continued. "I am only counting times when I've lost your pulse, of course."

You stood up straight, a little perplexed by his behavior. You knew that more than once, by every definition measurable by mortals, you had "died" during scheduled testing.

Verstael had asked you once what happened during those periods of silence, before your strength and consciousness returned.

Simply put, you didn't know. 

The full truth was that you found yourself within the same empty space as before, when you had dreamed. For an indeterminable amount of time. You waited there until you were called back. It rarely took long, but in that space it felt like time stopped. For all you knew, it could have. It wasn't somewhere you wished to be, if you could help it, but overall it was nothing more than an inconvenience. 

You finally stood on your own and faced him, trailing one hand against the wall as you pulled away from it. 

"The process of daemonification seems to leave you weaker for a short period after it's completed," he commented, looking up into your eyes. "When I first saw it in Angelgard, I had to transport you myself when you collapsed. Is it a physical condition, or are the effects purely mental?"

You tilted your head while you searched for an answer. "What you saw then was the first time I had ever done it before. I never meant for that to happen. Both times, when I transferred the scourge… I could see my victim's memories playing out before me like some kind of vision flowing into me whether I wish it or not."

"Memories? How can you be certain that's what these visions are?" asked Verstael. 

"If they are not someone's memories, then they're a very vivid hallucination," you said, pursing your lips. Verstael seemed skeptical, but he was just going to have to trust you. "The resulting disorientation is the same."

"I must find more subjects for you, in that case," he said. It was difficult to ever fully understand what he was thinking, but the gears were turning in his head. "Recently, I've been experimenting with the use of daemons in magiteknology. Did you know daemonic energy can fuel an automaton? All that is needed is a way to trap the daemon's very essence within the machine. The level of strength and intelligence varies by the species, however. I would like to harness your power to that end."

"How many will you need?" you asked reluctantly. You shouldn't have humored him at all, but you felt compelled to do so, with no other alternatives immediately present. "I don't think I can supply many in rapid succession. If you wish to use them for your machines…"

"It's still in the experimental phase," he answered. "I will provide a variety of subjects to you, human and nonhuman, to be used in my research. To start, do you think you could manage one subject a day?"

You looked to where the soldier had been standing earlier, a distasteful grimace. "I'm sure that I _could,_ yes."

He seemed to pick up on your hesitation at last, and you stared back at him with eyes that you hoped conveyed how little you wanted to do with his research, but you said nothing else. There was no need. "Your two thousand year slumber seems to have left you with some confusion, wouldn't you agree? The modern world is very different from the one you knew. I'm sure I don't need to tell you how to process information, but your gift… Couldn't it be used as a tool of education for yourself as well? If you truly are absorbing the memories of those you turn, you will see more of the world than you could ever learn about from those magazines I gave you."

You were hesitant to admit, there wasn't enough of a gap in your general knowledge as he believed to warrant relying on the power that way, but the idea was somehow tempting anyway. You may not have been the antiquated relic he thought you were, but to see through someone else's eyes might provide more insight. You doubted how desperate for answers you really were, but something urged you on. 

"One a day, then," you said, carefully. "I'm not sure how many memories I can take on at once."

Verstael grinned, then removed a small object the size of his hand from his coat pocket. It was only once he began speaking into it that you realized it was a recording device of some kind. He seemed to be recording some kind of research log, but you had stopped listening once he was no longer addressing you. 

You studied his expression for once, as he turned away from you. He probably thought faster than he could write his thoughts down in any useful capacity. He was easily excited, when it came to topics that interested them. You didn't mind that so much as his lack of ethics. 

You noted the bags under his eyes. You thought he looked young, but he was either a bit older than he appeared, or he worked far too tirelessly. Your own face bore similar signs of age, and your stronger features made your outward appearance seem older than him as well, but it was easy to let your mind wander. This body had survived two thousand years entombed on sacred ground, yet you were physically no older than 35 at most, if Verstael's data was to be trusted. 

Verstael would grow old, as would those around you. But as he had pointed out to you on a handful of occasions, your body would not. 

He assured you that this was something you should have been more grateful for, but you couldn’t see who it was he expected you to be grateful to. 

You knew, of course, the large number of legends surrounding the Lucian royal family and their relationship to the Astrals. You knew that the line of kings possessed powers that ordinary humans would never dream of. Though that power was borrowed by some members of the royal guard, and even used to power the protective wall surrounding Lucis, it wasn't something the average person living outside needed to think very much of.

Unfortunately, your circumstances were unique. Though hearing about your past never made you feel any better, there wasn't much room for you in the outside world like this. The Lucians still wanted their prisoner. Though not ideal, the empire's terms were much easier to swallow. Knowing nothing, you needed to rediscover yourself. Come to terms with who you had become. 

The complicated knot that formed in your stomach when you received Verstael's copy of the text that had been recovered from the ancient tomb was a good sign. It was not very in depth, but it was recorded proof that Ardyn Lucis Caelum did indeed exist. At least, in the capacity of describing the existence of Adagium, a name that still left a bitter taste in your mouth. 

The account had come from a tomb that had previously been on Lucian lands, until the advancing military power of Niflheim captured the surrounding area. The text was likely forgotten, but remained inaccessible until Verstael's team discovered it. If not for the words on the paper in front of you, you would still be in that rock. A humbling thought, but not one that inspired you to exalt the scientist for anything. 

Was it better to remain in that state of slumber? Or to be free to wander, but never to die? 

You had a strong preference for the latter, but certainly would not thank the gods for that.

What did this confirm, except that you were who you said you were? The Accursed elder brother of the Founder King. The name made you roll your eyes whenever it appeared, your stomach in knots again. 

You continued to work with Verstael, first only giving him one new subject a day, then taking on extras as his experiments progressed. Though using the power to such an extent took a toll on your mind, managing the fatigue was easy enough.

Verstael presented you with new identification, and the family name was abandoned, both on paper and symbolically.

If your brother's blood would reject you so strongly as to make it seem you had never existed, then there was no need for that name.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh god am i at 9k words already? Im so sorry lmao, and I've already gotten half of the next chapter written out


	4. M.E. 722-III-5th

Your dreams increased in intensity. Faces that had been unknowable before were becoming ingrained in the back of your mind. 

The faces of those you infected with the scourge began to blend together quickly, but at least you understood why certain features put you off so badly. It was Somnus's face that haunted you, making it easier to be reminded of him against your will.

It was discovered almost immediately that the animals provided to you by Verstael were not suitable candidates for his research. A waste of time and resources, he had said. You had to agree that it _was_ a waste.

If Verstael was good at one thing, it was stringing others along when he needed something from them. He made no secret of it that you were the cornerstone of his current work, demonstrated as you cooperated with him. He had given you the run of the main portion of the facility, true to his word, another small token of his… admiration?

He was obviously envious of your body's unique condition. Life was too short, he said, though he was still in the prime of his life. He envied your immortality, didn't seem to care that it was your circumstances that prevented you from entering the outside world. Verstael didn't apparently have many hobbies outside of his research, so maybe that wouldn't faze him very much. You were still adjusting to the new rules of this world but he was just as content to stay and play with his toys. 

The number of subjects he asked you to turn had trickled back down to one a day, often only once every few days, while he experimented with his machines. Based on his explanations it seemed like he was having his own hesitations when it came to using human subjects for the experiments. It wasn't sustainable, even if he perfected his work.

Absorbing the memories of your victims, you had learned an interesting amalgamation of things surrounding the research compound specifically. This was one reason Verstael's overall production decreased so suddenly- he quickly realized that while humans gave the best result, he was going to have to deplete the number of soldiers at the facility significantly in order to make any real progress. And inspiring the remaining men to mutiny was, surprisingly, an unappealing thought. 

Nevermind the lives that had already been wasted. If he had any regrets, he was still a prideful man. Those doubts would never make it into his research logs. 

In between working on his officially funded projects, his attention was mainly on you. 

He invited you to dinner often, and even during these meals, he was analyzing you. It was tiring, but there was little else to discuss between you. Verstael only had a mind for his research, and though he remained fascinated by you, that was the extent of it.

The meals decreased in the amount of food placed on the table when he realized that you hardly touched anything he placed in front of you. You weren't immune to the occasional craving, but it did little for your body, as you weren't likely to die of hunger. 

You did, however, accept the drink he offered. Verstael clearly, despite his insistence that he cared only for his research and furthering his nation's interest, had a taste for the finer things in life. And a decently extensive collection of wines he would likely never exhaust on his own, as he expressed to you that he didn't like the feeling of being under any influence whatsoever. But that didn't stop either of you from partaking in the act.

It felt a bit like accepting a bribe. You cooperated with him, and he brought you news from the outside world, as well as material goods, simple pleasures.

Which is how you ended up with a slightly excessive piece of contraband: a large box of wine, which had since been tucked away in a corner of your quarters near the sofas. This one was slightly less impersonal. You recognized the label that was on each of the bottles, which you had tasted once during dinner and voiced your surprised appreciation. It was a little more surprising that Verstael had remembered such a passing comment. 

In hindsight, the wine may have been a bribe as much as it was some kind of strange parting gift. Verstael left the facility for some time, no more than a week, you thought, but you lost track of time easily with nothing to keep you occupied.

When he returned, it was sometime later, in the evening. And he insisted that he see you in your quarters at once. 

Out of some sort of obligation you felt to be a good host, you poured a glass of that wine for the both of you while he took his seat in his usual spot on your sofa, clearly in high spirits.

"Do you know where I've been for the past nine days, Izunia?" he asked, accepting the glass with vigor.

"I haven't the slightest," you admitted as you sat across from him.

"I told you there were important eyes on my work," he said, bringing the glass to his lips for a deeper drink than one trying to savor their drink would. He exhaled sharply, a sound of contentment. "Some time ago I submitted the paperwork to begin funding a new facility dedicated entirely to creating new reinforcements for Niflheim's great army. I will need a great deal more room than this wretched place, if I want to be able to mass produce them." 

"Mass produce? I thought you were still reckoning with the lack of test subjects," you murmured, watching him. 

He chuckled, a rich sound that you had become accustomed to during his more manic hours. "One more wrinkle in my research, finally ironed out. I have _solved_ the shortage of warm bodies."

You sipped at your own glass, waiting for him to elaborate. "Have you, now?"

"I have," he purred. "I have successfully cloned a human subject. It proved difficult before, but at last my luck has turned. I simply applied that success to fit my needs."

He set his glass back down on the table, and you realized it was already only a couple of swallows away from being empty. You offered him the bottle again, pouring after an affirming nod while he spoke.

"Ah… when did this accomplishment occur, exactly?"

Another small chuckle as he began to drink from his newly filled glass. "I don't tell you _everything_ I do in my spare time."

No, but he did like to hear himself speak.

"It has been a process in the making for nearly a month now," he said finally. "Before you ask, do not worry yourself, I used my own cells as a sample. I realized that the only person capable of deciding how their genetic material is used is the person themself, and as such _I_ am the only one who could lend myself to my cause. No pesky permission forms to deal with, in that case. And the fewer people I have to keep in contact with in my research, the better."

You leaned back against the couch. Even though, oddly, you couldn't recall if you enjoyed wine before, you indulged in the sweet wine, a summery taste that you enjoyed thoroughly. It might have been freezing outside, but it was a pleasant reminder that it wasn't so miserable somewhere in the outside world. You took a long, slow drink, then poured yourself another glass. 

"So you've created a clone of yourself already?" you asked. 

"It has yet to finish the development cycle before it can be removed from its life support, but the biggest obstacle has been cleared at last," he answered, grinning back. "I left to present my findings and propose using them to reinforce our military. The project is going to be fully funded by Emperor Iedolas Aldercapt himself."

By no means was Verstael a struggling researcher- he hadn't said as much but it was most likely that he came from a family with money and influence before his work had gained traction in the Empire. But he would likely receive an obscene raise in pay, if things worked out.

"I suppose congratulations are in order," you hummed, a bit of his good mood rubbing off on you. "It's a bit tactless to regift the wine you presented me with, but it really is all I have to offer, and there is quite a lot of it, so… help yourself to it, if you're in a celebratory mood."

"Normally, I would refuse, but tonight I feel as though I'm on top of the world," Verstael chuckled. "Just for tonight, let's both of us cut loose for a little while. This never would have been possible without you, after all."

You scoffed, but agreed to relax at last. After all, things had been confusing lately, it wouldn't do to work yourself into exhaustion. 

There was a nagging feeling that drinking with Verstael would go badly, but clearly the man was enjoying himself for once. Why stop him now? 

After light discussion, and two of the bottles had been depleted between you, even you were feeling the effects of the alcohol. Verstael had slowly tapered off, on his last drink of the night, he swore, while you stoppered the half empty bottle. 

It hadn't been an unpleasant night. 

Things would return to normal in the morning, no doubt, you thought. Your state was not as bad as Verstael's, who was having a bit of difficulty by now, but by your estimate you had ultimately had more to drink than him. It had taken more to feel that familiar tingling in your fingers and toes, and a comfortable warmth, but you were certain it would wear off too soon as well. 

You helped the other man, flushed and still giddy, to his feet with ease. "Would you like some assistance returning to your quarters?"

Verstael wrinkled his nose, thinking about something. "I may need it."

As you walked with him to the door of your room, he dismissed the guards for the night. There was no need for them to witness him in such a state. 

"Stay close, Izunia," he said, trailing the wall as you often did during the daylight hours. "There are horrors in this facility even I wouldn't want to face in my darkest fears. Not in this state, anyway."

His words were a little clumsier, a little slower than normal, but you began making your way to his private quarters.

"I assure you," you said, taking a surprisingly lighthearted jab at yourself. "There is little in this facility to fear more than myself."

"Oh no?" he murmured, looking at you.

He had stopped walking, instead standing in the middle of a fork in the hallway. 

"I will admit that your power is worthy of awe, but there is something here that would chill even you to the bone, Izunia," he said, motioning with his head down one of the halls. It was not the direction of his room. 

You were a bit more than comfortably tipsy, but even though you wanted to move on and retire for the night, his claim made you curious. 

What you had learned from the memories of soldiers from this facility, there was almost nothing that stood out to you as being especially more frightening than your power. Locked away for two thousand years, you didn't possess infinite wisdom or any such thing, but you had seen much of the facility. At this point, nothing short of the Astrals themselves would make you fear pain of death.

"What do you mean?" you asked, wavering on your feet slightly.

Verstael rested one hand against the wall, motioning with one hand. "I must confess, there's one little secret left in these walls, even from you. It was meant to be a surprise, but I have had it here longer than your discovery."

You inched closer to him, and he reached out and clasped your hand in both of his, in his inebriated state. His boundaries in the world of sobriety were a bit thin when it came to you, but he would normally not be quite so bold.

"Come with me," he said, grinning. "There's something I want to show you."

He turned, a little clumsily, still holding your left wrist with his right hand as he led you on, tugging slightly for you to keep up as you wandered down the wrong hallway. 

"Where are we going?" you asked, a slight smile, amused at the man's state.

"There is one room that even you shouldn't have seen," he said. "Unless my men are exceptionally poor at keeping secrets."

You thought about it for a moment and guessed that there must be one or two secrets left. Your mental map of the facility wasn't perfect, but you had a rough idea of where most things were, and at least knew the different wings.

"Mind the stairs," you warned, as he descended the steps, removing his hand from you to better guide himself. You descended a few levels, twisting through the mountainside building. 

Finally, he came to a large, vaulted door.

"Are you ready?"

You felt a bit hazy still, but you couldn't guess what it was that he was so excited about. And you would never know until you let him open the door.

"Yes."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Frankly I've lost control of this


	5. M.E. 722-III-6th (early morning)

The door parted, and Verstael pointed at the wide observation window ahead of you. Even before you got closer, you felt goosebumps prickling at your skin, but perhaps that was just the anticipation.

"Come see for yourself," he said, gesturing with one hand as he stood by the window. 

You craned your neck as you approached, unsure of what to expect, but what you saw did indeed freeze the blood in your very veins. Your mouth agape, a sudden pressure crept over you. It wasn't as though you had ever seen an Astral before, but you recognized him immediately.

You gazed down at the body of the Infernian himself.

Verstael leaned a little closer, nodding at him. "I discovered him at the Rock of Ravatogh some time ago. He was in a deep sleep even before we started excavating him, so we brought him here, and put him on ice."

So the chill you felt in the air was not just your senses returning to you, then, realizing that half of Ifrit's body _was_ encased in a thick layer of ice. You were more surprised there was room to house such a massive being. And they had managed to avoid waking him, as well… Who would be stupid enough to try and cage a god?

You looked back at Verstael, not bothering to prevent these concerns from playing out on your face.

Verstael gave a short laugh, a haughty one. "What did I tell you? Do I have your attention now?"

You put a hand over your chin, tucking the other one under your elbow while you looked down at the sleeping god. It was a terrifying thing that you were wholly unprepared for, to stand before a god. Verstael might have been drunk, but you knew he wouldn't even flinch if he was sober. 

"Why would you-- I mean…" you stumbled, lowering your voice as if to avoid being heard, to avoid waking the giant. "What have you done?"

Verstael chuckled to himself, the red flush of his cheeks still evident in the fluorescent lights. "The Infernian has gone undisturbed ever since he arrived here. There's no need to tempt fate, after all. But now that I have you, perhaps that can change."

A sinking feeling fizzled in your chest. You turned your head to look at Verstael. "What… what would you have me do?"

"I want you to turn him, of course."

"How could I?" you mumbled, looking back at him. "There is a lot to think about here. What if an Astral can't be afflicted? He'll raze this whole building to the ground."

"Don't tell me you're afraid for your immortal soul, Izunia, you've come so far," said Verstael, rolling his eyes at you. "I have faith in your abilities. Assuming it does work, wouldn't that be truly incredible? You are the only man who could ever peer into the mind of an Astral. So much history, much of which is from far before even _you_ ever existed. Perhaps you will find whatever truth you've been looking for. Isn't that something to be excited about?" 

You leaned back to the window, changing positions to tap your fingers gingerly on the sill for a moment. "Is that a good enough reason? I cannot stress how catastrophic it could be if it failed."

Verstael moved past you, descending yet another flight of stairs on slightly wobbly legs. Not only did he intend for you to follow through, he intended it to be done right now. 

"There is also the possibility that you could be granted the power to control him," said Verstael. "It is said that the Lucian Founder King wandered Eos, forging a pact between the Astrals that allowed him to call them to his aid. If your long dead brother could do it without your power, then you should have no trouble at all."

"My brother…?" you asked, following Verstael, though slowly. He was egging you on, using curiosity and the prospect of justice to get you to agree. You wanted to say no, to put your foot down, but you couldn't talk yourself into walking away. 

Somnus' face flashed into your mind, instantly exhausting you. Frankly, the urge to return to your quarters and sleep for another millennia was overwhelming. You growled under your breath. 

What choice did you have? Other than to wait until both your heads had cleared, at which point he would simply goad you into it again. There would be no shaking him.

You nodded to him, and the door was opened. 

Most of the warehouse was empty, devastatingly cavernous, but beyond the wall ahead of you was the entrance to the frigid chamber where Ifrit slept. 

Verstael led you across the metal floor to another pair of sectioned doors, which he opened. In the next room, there was a control panel against the wall with the next set of doors, which was quickly attended to by the other man. He leaned over the panel, motioning you closer.

“I’m going to turn off the device that’s keeping the room at a sub-zero temperature. I doubt that will be enough to wake him on its own,” he said, typing at the controls. “Just to be safe, I wouldn’t dawdle there, if I were you.”

You stepped closer to the doors. This door was going to be opened for you, whether or not you wanted it. Verstael was going to get everyone killed if you didn't attempt to daemonify the deity, or if you failed. And worse yet, an attack on a god, especially the Infernian, could cause him to turn his ire on Eos outside of those who had subjugated him. There really was no doubt that you had to do it, though once again you felt ill. 

You had to be successful.

Squaring your shoulders, you stood in front of the door while it opened, slowly. A rush of cold air leaked out of it as it was raised, but it would just be an annoyance, and you doubted you would have to suffer the cold for very long. 

You nodded to Verstael again, who waved his hand at you in acknowledgement as you stepped inside. 

The door remained open, but Verstael was quick to disappear from view, as you heard his footsteps quickening in the opposite direction, stumbling once. You expected he was probably not running away, but putting distance between himself and the disaster about to occur. 

As you slowly entered the room, feeling the pressure exerted by the sleeping form of Ifrit intensifying by the second, you looked up at the observation window above and saw Verstael appear in the frame.

There was little in the room besides Ifrit and the device holding him, but without the device actively cooling his body, a hazy sort of steam was starting to form as you got closer. The temperature was rising. 

You shuffled closer to the giant, but saw no way to reach him. His capturing had clearly been a show of power, not intended for you to come into the picture. You could reach him, but not in any convenient way.

Before you could figure out a way to solve this problem, however, one of the Infernian's clawed hands began to twitch, a hissing sound of cracking ice shocking you. 

Your head snapped up at the sight of the giant beginning to move, twisting ungracefully to try and free himself from the remaining ice. The steam poured off his body, and you scrambled to clear yourself of the platform supporting the Astral's synthetic altar. 

Something burst as the Infernian's flame flickered to life, the lamp overhead as he sat up, something you could only stand and watch in awe. You were sure your hands were trembling. 

As he rose to his feet, he shoved the many mechanical apparatuses aside, destroying the device that had held him as his eyes slowly locked onto yours. 

_Through_ yours.

**_What mortal would defile the resting place of a god?_ **

A searing pain ripped through your skull. The Infernian spoke, his voice ravaging your mind, but he wasn't truly addressing you. 

His arm reached out, the massive sword in his hand suddenly gleaming with the flames that threatened to engulf the room. He gave a low, sweeping swing of his arm, narrowly missing you as you drifted behind him in a sudden attempt to come to your senses. 

You felt as though your head was instantly cleared, no longer feeling the effects of the wine, as if the fear had dissipated it entirely. 

Adrenaline coursed through you. You couldn't reach Ifrit without endangering yourself, but without knowing what else to do you summoned your arms to your side. The sword in your hand, you had come to call Rakshasa, though where the name had come from, you didn't know. Another gift from this body's true owner, you supposed. Ethereal weapons surrounded you, and as you drew closer to the Astral, you commanded them effortlessly, forgetting all but instinctual movements as the blades swarmed the air around the Infernian's feet. 

You raised your arm to slash at his ankles, but your blade never connected. 

You were snatched off of the ground by the god himself, wrapped firmly in just one of his hands, so that only one of your hands was free. You had dropped your sword, but it would hardly be wise to attack a divine being who could easily flex his hand and crush you instantly, even if the action wouldn't kill you for long.

**_This mortal reeks of the darkness that encroaches on the world. Would a man of House Caelum abandon all sense and defy the gods themselves?_ **

Your head felt like it would burst again, but you clasped your hand to the one surrounding you, lowering your aching head, your eyes closed. If you prayed, you didn't know to whom.

**_No… The blood of House Caelum flows through you, but you do not belong to them. Who are you, who presents themself before a god in the facade of a king?_ **

His voice seared through you, burning his enraged question into your mind. He expected no answer, his hand beginning to close around your form so that your breath hitched before you could speak. Instead, you felt that roiling murkiness bubble up again before you knew what you were doing. Your hands on his, the scourge spread rapidly, emanating from your fingertips. 

Then, came the visions.

Sights you were never meant to see tore through you. You saw the Astrals at war. The burgeoning civilization of Solheim. Ifrit's gift of warmth to mankind. It was more than you could bear. 

The Infernian reeled, and as he did, he dropped you.

You fell against the ground heavily, certain you heard a crack, along with the roar of a fiery explosion and shattering glass, as you landed. You were incapacitated with what you had seen, no more able to make sense of the images than anyone who had never experienced them. 

The Infernian spoke again, but this time, though it still hurt, you heard his voice plainly.

 **"Your ignorance will not spare you the fate deserving of a traitor,"** he growled, falling to his knees. The Infernian was doubled over in agony as your haze overtook him, empowering you and making you feel more than a little lightheaded. He was kneeling before you, though it was not of his will, his body marred by the scourge. **"If you would play at the role of the Accursed, then it is his fate you shall be burdened with."**

The Infernian's form began to dissipate, and you staggered, trying to regain your footing and rise at last. 

As you finally succeeded in standing, Ifrit's stolen bestowal of his power flowed into you, nearly knocking you over again. The facility's sprinkler system finally activated, dowsing you in tepid water.

Incomprehensible images played in your mind again, though they did not seem to be from the fallen god himself. This time, you saw in your mind a massive crystal, hollowed as if it were some kind of encasing. Indeed, inside the crystal appeared a face. Your face. Not the face of Ardyn Lucis Caelum, but the face you wore before. The image suddenly shifted, showing instead the face you currently wore, the man you had become. This one seemed to be more fitting, while the former only brought you confusion. Was that the vision you were intended to see, or was your mind playing tricks on you? 

The Astrals… That crystal… you understood one thing: the Founder King, Somnus, your brother, was never meant to rule. You couldn't say you had any interest in that, but the implications were staggering. Yet another piece of forbidden knowledge that would only pain you to bear. 

You looked up slowly, at the window where Verstael had been. The glass was shattered, and the other man was nowhere to be seen. It took a lot out of you to call out to him. You thought you might collapse, but you opted to use whatever strength you had left to warp to the window, finding yourself on the other side of the glass in only seconds.

Verstael had collapsed on the ground, lying face down in the direction of the door. You knelt down beside him, dizziness and fatigue overcoming you. Your skin felt gross and clammy, and you coughed into one damp sleeve as you attempted to turn the man over.

Verstael groaned, but began to stir just before you touched him, pushing himself up to his knees. He had a few scratches, but didn't appear to be badly hurt

"Gods," he muttered, recoiling from you. "Your eyes…"

You winced, frowning in confusion at him. You wiped at the water trickling down your skin.

"...Are you injured?" you asked. 

Verstael shook his head, and you started to offer him your hand, though you could barely stand yourself. He put up his hand to stop you from touching him, meanwhile reaching into his coat for his recording device.

"Adagium has undergone the most drastic physical change observed since his arrival at the facility," he said, still keeping his distance from you. "The scleras have turned pitch black, and what appears to be the miasma is leaking from his eyes, as well as his mouth. His skin has taken on a sickly pallor, but despite all this he seems none the worse for wear. Not because of this sudden change, anyway. Whether or not this fluid is actually the contagion remains to be seen, but I have no intention of finding out outside of a controlled environment. It seems further testing is required."

You were stunned as he spoke, waiting until he finished speaking to say anything, out of courtesy. But that didn't stop you from looking down at your hands. Your skin certainly did look repulsive, pale, but unnaturally so, the veins in your hand starkly visible against your skin, black as faded ink. More noticeable though were the stains on your sleeves. On one arm, where you had coughed into it, and the other you had used to wipe your face. Both were smeared with the same ink, which evidently was leaking from every orifice of your face. You accidentally licked your cracked lips, tasting the bitter and salty fluid, as though it were blood from a split lip.

What was this? How could it be stopped? You didn't know. You wished you had a change of clothes.

Verstael had put away his recorder again, and was leaning away from you to push himself to his feet. He seemed shaky still, most likely still drunk, you realized. You had almost forgotten about that, since the fog in your brain had already dissolved when you had the life scared out of you. He pressed an uneasy hand to his middle, wincing.

"You… should return to your quarters," he said, looking down at you. "I hate to leave you in this state without putting you under observation, but I… believe I will be visiting the infirmary. I'll find my own way." 

And with that, he left, mumbling something about water, which sounded like a good idea. 

At the very least, a hot shower was in order.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and that concludes the episode Ardyn stuff, so I'll probably do whatever i want from here


	6. M.E. 722-III-6th (afternoon)

It was no wonder Verstael's reaction after Ifrit had been infected had been so adverse. 

Your reflection was ghastly. The inky stuff dried quickly, so it wasn't too much to manage, but it was frighteningly unexpected. You tried not to meet your own eyes in the darkened glass windows that reflected the light from the ceiling above. It was shocking that the mirror didn't crack when you passed on your way to the shower.

It didn't go away overnight either.

Verstael performed a new examination of your body. 

"The results are largely the same," said Verstael, stepping back from the examination table. "This… fluid, it seems to be the scourge manifesting itself, but I don't think it will cause anyone who comes into contact with you to turn."

"What a relief," you mumbled, rolling your eyes. "But there's no conceivable way for me to pass as human, like this."

He murmured in agreement, leaning closer to you with a small pen light. "Keep your eyes open, and follow the light with your eyes." 

He shined the light at you, drawing it back and forth while he examined you. You did as instructed silently.

"Everything _appears_ normal. At least, on paper," he said, turning the light off. "Obviously, I can see that _something_ has changed, even without an examination. Is this the result of your encounter with the Infernian?"

"I suppose it must be," you said, shrugging and waving one hand. "I think I would remember if my face had always looked like this." 

"I'm sure," he muttered, returning to taking notes at the table in front of you. He woke up on the wrong side of the bed, unsurprisingly. He looked a bit haggard himself, likely having been sick at some point. He kept a glass of water within arm's reach. 

His situation would have been more amusing if you weren't currently grappling with your actions, and whatever had happened to your body. 

You found yourself imagining the torment you would endure if Somnus could see you, an intrusive thought that kept nagging at the back of your mind. You only knew _of_ Somnus, from snippets of nightmares you couldn't remember, or the histories you had read that only sung his praises. Something told you he would certainly never let you live this down. If he didn't outright attempt to murder you without saying as much as a word once he saw you. Nevermind what would happen if he found out what you did to the Infernian. 

But still, you gritted your teeth, his face burned into your mind. His dark hair, his cold blue eyes, as your eyes had once been- though they hadn't been blue since you came into possession of this body. His expression twisted into one of cruel delight as he mocked you, naming you for the monster you were.

You buried your face in your hands, only removing them when Verstael dropped his pen, the implement clattering to the floor with the sound of dull plastic. 

"...What did you just do?" he asked, looking at you with renewed interest. The pen remained at the floor, evidently abandoned.

You frowned. "I didn't do anything."

The sound of your voice caused your frown to deepen. You knew that voice, but it wasn't your own.

"’The throne seats only one,’" you mumbled in displeasure, echoing something you had heard once. What _had_ you done? 

Your hands had returned to a healthy color, and as you reached for the still unkempt hair you had grown accustomed to, you only found enough to grab onto, to pull into view. All you could see in the corner of your eye was a deep black. 

You stood up from the bench you had been seated on, still looking down at yourself, your shoulders suddenly stiff. What happened? You started going through your options internally: was this something these powers had caused, or was this somehow related to losing your original body? 

"Let me look at the camera footage," said Verstael, turning away. He went into the next room, and then a moment later, he called you over. 

You followed him slowly, uncomfortably aware of your appearance as you entered the office.

On the display on one wall, Verstael showed you the footage from only a few moments ago. On the screen, it was difficult to make out, but as the tiny version of you sat on the table, you gasped audibly when your appearance suddenly shifted, as if refocusing the lens on a camera.

"Is it… some kind of illusion?" you asked, watching the figure that seemed difficult to focus your eyes on, though it visibly appeared to be Somnus Lucis Caelum. A person watching the footage might not immediately notice that the appearance seemed to waver, but if it was magic, it didn't photograph very well. Maybe it was harder to lie to a camera.

"This is Somnus, my brother," you said, gesturing to your face. "I was… remembering something about him, and then this happened."

Admittedly, you were thinking about how angry looking at him made you, but it sounded worse when put into words.

"If it's an illusion of your making, can it be turned off? Or changed?" he suggested. 

You supposed it probably should be the case, if you could do this much. You tried to recreate what you had done the first time, focusing on each feature while this time visualizing the image projecting as your outward appearance. You could see from the expression on Verstael's face that the illusion had changed again.

"Are you trying to be funny?" he asked, shooing you out of the security office so he could close the door behind him.

"I'm much less joking than I am just now discovering this myself," you said, your voice a growling echo of Verstael's. 

"Please don't speak, if you're going to wear my face," he muttered, stepping past you to return to the table.

You made a second attempt, changing the illusion once again so that only your voice returned to normal. "I can use this."

"Don't do that either," he scoffed, very nearly offended by your display. "And yes, I'm sure this ability will be immensely useful, provided no one tries to film you.”

You dispelled the illusion altogether as you returned to the examination table, your skin once again pale as death. "But this does solve my original problem."

In a sweeping gesture, you waved your right arm in a counterclockwise motion across your body. Your skin returned to its original pallor, and you touched your face, expecting your hands to come away with the inky substance, but they were completely clean. You gave a relieved chuckle. 

“You really are magnificent,” said Verstael, watching you with amused eyes. “I suppose I shouldn’t be impressed by parlor tricks at my age, as a man of science, but I’ve never seen anything quite like this before.”

“No, by all means, be impressed,” you said, smirking. “I am, just a little.”

He rolled his eyes, reaching for his glass of water with a groan as he made another note. “Don’t get too full of yourself, Izunia.”

"In the event that the Emperor wishes to meet you in person, this will be to our benefit, as well," he added. “Those in the capital would have more than a few hesitations against working with a man who actively appears as a demon.”

You grimaced, but couldn’t disagree with his assessment. "Why would the Emperor want to meet me?"

Verstael rolled his right wrist with a small shrug. "I've named you as a major contributor to my research. There is still much to be done before the new facility is constructed and operational, but I have no doubt the Emperor will want to keep a close eye on my progress. This endeavor is not going to be a cost efficient one, at least at first."

You tilted your head to one side, considering this while not really looking directly at him. "I suppose I would be better off, if I had just a little more freedom than my current status allows. Rubbing elbows with the Emperor might help me reclaim some of it.”

He nodded in agreement. “It is not my intention to keep you here forever. I mean to study you, to learn from you, and occasionally consult with you. If all goes well, you’ll be living quite comfortably very soon.”

“Mmh, and this is already so much nicer than being crucified in a dirty cave. At least, what little I remember during the very small amount of time I was lucid for it, anyway,” you said.

“I understand why the Lucians feared you, but not I,” he said, gesturing to himself with a nod. “I want our partnership to be beneficial to both of us.”

You raised an eyebrow at him. His response to you only the night before proved that he harbored some amount of fear towards you, but perhaps it was simply the shock.

“How brave of you,” you said, turning your head with a smirk. You teased, but the man’s career was based on carrying out research that bordered on outright reckless. His capture of the Infernian had gone a bit differently than what was likely originally intended, but that wasn’t entirely reassuring. The man was clever enough, and lucky enough, to survive these situations despite the danger.

Verstael cut his eyes back at you, his lips pursed into a tight line. “I would ask you not to patronize me.”

“Is _that_ what you think I’m doing?” 

The way Verstael’s expression contorted into a perplexed scowl was entirely too amusing. He set his jaw, then turned his eyes back to his notes, evidently not wanting to give you more of a rise. He picked up the pen he had dropped earlier. 

Exactly what possessed you to antagonize him was unclear, but he made it far too easy.

You thought about Ifrit’s vow that you would suffer the same fate intended for Ardyn Lucis Caelum. You… weren’t entirely sure what that meant, for the moment, but you wondered if it truly mattered. For the time being, this body was yours. You didn’t really know what sort of man Ardyn was, but for now, that was up to you to decide.

“At any rate, if I’m to meet the Emperor of Niflheim, don’t you think I should appear more presentable?” you posited, gesturing to your clothes. You owned a few pairs of identical garments, one of which was now stained by the scourge. They had to go.

“I hope you don’t expect me to use my research funding to take you clothes shopping,” he said, snapping his eyes back up at you.

You placed one hand on your cheek, feigning offense. “Of course not! But surely a decent, non-military haircut can’t be all that expensive.”

Verstael rolled his eyes with a heavy sigh. “I will see what I can do. You are correct, the state you’re currently in will not win the favor of royalty.”

Running a hand through the loose hair that framed your face, you showed it to him demonstratively. “I could probably do with about half of this.”

“Come to think of it, there probably is a lot we should cover before you’re allowed anywhere near Gralea,” he said, resting one hand on the counter to lean against. “You’ve no doubt acquired a decent understanding of the outside world by absorbing memories, but it would be a good idea to cover whatever we can.”

He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, folding one arm across his middle. “And then there’s the subject of your transportation…”

That was something you hadn’t considered. You hadn’t really entertained too many ideas of leaving this place in the immediate future, aside from vague ideas of returning to your old life. Having to acquire a driver’s license hadn’t even crossed your mind. It wasn’t as though you had never been behind the wheel of a car before, but public transit in Accordo was far more convenient. The empire was a sprawling series of nations. Brushing up on those skills would be wise. 

“No one said keeping a pet would be easy,” you said, to Verstael’s utter dismay. You watched his expression darken, turning to one of mild disgust.

“Well,” he said, clearing his throat, reaching again for his water. “There is much to consider before all that. For the time being, I think I’m finished with you for the day.”

You wished him a good day, and left the examination room.

Unfortunately, the facility had little to capture your attention besides your own quarters. Probably, you should find some sort of hobby, but this new trick you had learned was intriguing. You wasted no time in returning to the bathroom mirror to practice this new skill.

It was with a slightly giddy feeling that you stood in front of the glass, first examining your reflection as you leaned against the sink. Everything appeared normal, turning your head to the side, leaning closer to inspect your eyes. This appearance was the one you had come to know.

You closed your eyes, lowering your head, exhaling through your nose. Focusing on your appearance, you attempted to change the illusion again. 

Somnus' appearance had been entirely unwelcome, so you instead concentrated on Verstael's features again, the shape of his eyes, his hair, even going as far to copy the uniform he wore. 

You opened your eyes. 

It almost startled you, to see Verstael's blue eyes staring back. You tilted your chin again, then glanced down at gloved hands, squeezing one of them shut. Though it was an illusion, it felt as real as it looked, the leather glove giving a pleasant resistance. 

"He should be glad my recreation is so faithful," you said, getting a feel for his voice as well. 

You returned your appearance to normal, a satisfied smirk on your lips. 

A realization crept over you. 

This was an excellent chance to start thinking about how to return to your old life. Of course, in the current year, you hadn't even been born yet, so unless you suddenly learned how to traverse time, such thoughts were pointless. If you couldn't figure out how to return to that life, however, you could at least wear your original body.

You concentrated on your appearance again, trying to picture in your head the face you had been forced to give up.

A frown soon found its way to your features. Your attempts were met with great resistance. You could sort of picture what you used to look like, but when it came to the individual details, your memory was a little hazy. Your eyes had been… blue? Brown? You were almost certain they weren’t this shade of gold that marked you as bearing the scourge, innocuous, unless one knew better. You had to abandon the attempt, unable to recall clearly enough to cast an illusion.

You guessed that somehow, trying to get your body back wasn’t exactly on the forefront of your mind, but it was one more mystery to add to the pile. 

Instead, you sighed. You were unlikely to solve this on your own, but you doubted very much that anyone could know more about your situation than yourself. That, and Verstael was the only one crazy enough to listen. It was unlikely to faze him, but just as unlikely to benefit you in any way. 

And then there was the matter of the Infernian. 

Verstael feared no god, as a construct. Despite that, he had put a clear amount of distance between himself and Ifrit, clearly not by any accident. There was a difference between a sleeping beast to which millions offered prayer, and a giant, fire-based being loose in your backyard. He had not been severely injured, only some temporary scarring from the glass that had shattered, and some mild bruising. But you knew he feared something: his own mortality.

You had no reason to fear it, but you did fear consequences. It was not Ardyn Lucis Caelum who had corrupted an Astral, but you, Ardyn Izunia. The distinction felt important, because you were the one who would answer for it. 

It had been necessary, you thought. It was likely your presence that had awoken him once you got too close. If you hadn't infected him, this building and the people inside it, save you, would be long gone. But you would not be forgiven for that just because it had been a good deed. 

What were you to do with the Infernian? Verstael probably meant for him to be used as a weapon, but you had a feeling that even though you _could_ call upon his aid, it wasn't a power to be used lightly. It was not one that would be able to be used with any frequency. Virtually useless, for Verstael's purposes. But still, the power was safer in your hands than his, if he had even had the capacity to wield it. 

You exited the bathroom, then deposited yourself heavily in the bed, all but collapsing. Verstael wasn’t convinced that your body even needed proper rest to continue functioning, but it felt much better than spending sleepless nights in the facility alone. Or worse, with just the night’s security detail. 

It was a bit early in the day, but you felt yourself drifting off anyway.

* * *

“How are you faring?” a voice asked. _Your_ voice.

Once again, your dreams were filled with weird, mixed feelings.

Though you had visited the empty, blue space a few too many times, you weren’t so sure this place was the same as the one you found yourself in if your body got a little too roughed up. This was… a dream. How it worked, however, you didn’t know. And the only person who did was not likely to give that secret up.

“You’re Ardyn?” you asked instead.

“Didn’t anyone ever tell you not to answer a question with another question?” he groaned. “But yes, that’s what you may call me. What name are you answering to, these days?”

You saw no one, but you heard him from somewhere. You were being mocked, but you kept your head. “Verstael just calls me Izunia.”

A scoff. “On first name terms with Chief Besithia, are we?”

“What’s going on here?” you asked. 

“Whatever do you mean?”

You sighed heavily. “Why… why am I here? This isn’t any more strange than anything that’s happened to me recently, and… You’re here, so you must know why I’m no longer in possession of my own body.”

“Did you want it back? This body isn’t nearly as sturdy, you know. The one I’ve given you? You must have realized by now that it’s immortal,” he said.

“So you did do this to me,” you said. “How do I undo it?”

 _“You_ don’t. If you want this body back--this very _mortal_ body--you’ll have to come and take it yourself,” he said, drawing out his vowels just long enough to be irritating. “That is, if you can find me. If you’re anything like me, you’ll probably have forgotten all about this whole mess by the time you can reach me.”

Dealing with him was more frustrating than the situation itself. “Where are you?”

“It’s much less of a ‘where’ than a ‘when,’ at this point,” he answered, and if you could see him you would have sworn he was smiling. “Your body in the state you left it in doesn’t exist, after all. I’m afraid you’ll just have to wait it out.”

That gave you a pause. The year when you left it was 756. This… would not be a short wait.

“Oh, but my time here is short. I have my own life to attend to in the waking world, and I’m sure you’re very busy in your own. This… is the last time we’ll talk for a long while.”

You ground your teeth. “Good riddance.”

“Try not to make too much of a mess of things before your wait is up.”

With that, the dream faded, and you were left back in your slumber.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me, writing this: I... guess I'm in this for the long haul??


	7. M.E. 722-IV-00

The first time you set foot outside the facility would have been a godsend, if not for the sun scorching you skin on the walk between the building and your assigned envoy. You hadn't realized how stifling the building was, until you could smell the outdoors. Once inside the car, the sun was thwarted both by the roof and heavily tinted windows. Back to a manageable state.

You leaned back in the car and got comfortable for the fairly long drive to the capital city. 

You had a couple of special appointments, and had arrived in the city at such a time when the sun would not bother you, nor cause you to attract any unwanted attention. In your plain grey clothes and distastefully ugly boots, you already looked like Verstael's charity case, which, admittedly, you may as well have been.

The first thing on the list was your hair. 

You offered what you hoped was a charming smile of apology to the hairdresser, only chuckling along with her when she commented on the state of your hair. It had been a while since you had gotten a haircut at all, let alone since this body had one. Did they have hairdressers two thousand years ago? Probably? Either way, the process seemed to last forever. 

It wasn't an unpleasant experience, and was probably the first time you had been touched in any capacity outside of Verstael's prodding in a while. 

A decent wash and conditioning, using actual product instead of the rather industrial toiletries given to you during your stay at the facility. Then, the actual cut. 

You would have hated to chop _all_ of the deep red hair off, so instead you opted for a lazy sort of style that wouldn't require too much upkeep to maintain, but also made you presentable. It fell so that the very ends just barely touched your shoulders.

Your hair was held back out of your face for a clean shave, and after the initial surprise of someone other than yourself taking a blade to your skin, it was actually relaxing. 

Some sort of product was run through your hair to give it an appearance of controlled chaos, and you were finally finished.

When it was done, you turned your head to either side, marveling at how much lighter your head felt. 

It really did make a difference. Your clothes were still nearly suspicious levels of drab, but with most of your hair no longer in your face, you looked like a totally different person. The thought amused you, and you had to admit that taking more control over your appearance did give you a slight confidence boost. 

After Verstael paid the hairdresser, a lengthy meeting with a personal stylist. 

The office was in a building on the outskirts of the shopping district, and you weren’t convinced that the upstairs of the building wasn’t the stylist’s home. It was a nice little storefront, with a lobby, a meeting area, and beyond that, some kind of storage room.

“I hadn’t meant for you to hire a consultant to replace my wardrobe. Can you really write this off as a business expense?” you asked, seated beside Verstael on a sofa while you waited for the stylist to return to the identical sofa on the opposite side of the room. The soldiers accompanying you stood silently by the door.

His lips were pursed into a thin line. “I don’t see why I shouldn’t be allowed to, considering that you _are_ my business. But no, I can’t see myself able to give a justifiable reason for this beyond putting on airs, so this expense is coming out of my own pocket. You can repay me later.”

“If it isn’t justifiable, why the extra effort? Trying to buy my affection?” 

He drummed his fingers on his right knee, his words coming out with just a little more force than was probably necessary. “No. I have little interest in the intricacies of clothing as a means to impress, and frankly, I don’t trust you to know how to dress to appear before royalty in the modern era. This person makes a career out of precisely that.”

You probably knew more about how to present yourself in the modern era than the proper dress in Ardyn’s lifetime, you considered ruefully. 

“How very kind of you to specify the modern era. Here I was, about to traipse in front of Emperor Iedolas Aldercapt in my finest tunic,” you said, rolling your neck to look at him sideways. “Oh, that's right. I only own three identical shirts.”

He seemed about to say something else, when the stylist returned to the sitting area, silencing him. 

A well-dressed man who looked anywhere between 28 and 35 offered his hand to you to shake, then sat across from you. “Mr. Izunia?”

“That would be me,” you said, a slightly lazy smile as you leaned back on the sofa. It was increasingly easier to say with confidence. 

“Laurent Tregaire,” he said, motioning to himself. “I don’t normally take on new clients past 5, but I’ve made an exception in your case at Chief Besithia’s request. Can I offer you anything to drink?”

You scoffed just a little bit, but shook your head with a smile. “No, thank you. I apologize for the late hour, but I’m afraid the sun doesn’t agree with me very much. I’m… prone to dizzy spells.”

You could practically feel Verstael’s disapproval seeping off of him without even looking, but it wasn’t as though he was going to stop you. Not that there was anything to really put a stop to, since you didn’t have any real desire to explain yourself to a perfect stranger anyway.

“I see, I see,” murmured Laurent. He reached out to the table beside him for a notepad, which he jotted something down on. You felt your smile widen just a little in spite of yourself as you realized you were about to be subjected to more prodding questions. “Well, it’s no trouble to make an exception, once in a while. I’m sure you’re aware, Besithia, of my additional fee for the late hour?”

Verstael closed his eyes impatiently, but nodded. “I’m aware.”

Thus began a long process of Laurent asking you questions about your personal tastes in clothing. You weren’t sure how to approach some of the questions, so you simply tried to be honest. Input was given on occasion, both by Laurent and once or twice by Verstael, on the sort of clothing that would be appropriate for a _possible_ appearance in the Emperor’s court. Though it seemed to you, the odds of that happening must have been much higher than you initially thought, if Verstael was putting his own funds towards cleaning you up. 

There was some resistance on your part. It was suggested that you wore the empire’s colors, _if_ you really were meant to do this, but you were pretty adamant that you wore darker colors. This prompted a few extra questions from Laurent, on the grounds that you expressed distaste for being out in the sun, but were interested in layering dark clothes, upon suggestion. It wasn’t the heat that bothered you, though you didn’t admit it to the stylist. Mainly, you were certain you wanted to stay away from white clothing. 

Evidently, you had a few adverse opinions on the matter. 

Then came the measuring portion of the meeting. 

This part was far less agreeable to you. You were used to Verstael’s hands, which, while much less gentle, were familiar. The stylist’s hands were impersonal, having done this countless times before, but it was a huge relief when, after what seemed like ages of yellow tape and note-taking, he finally stepped away.

He reviewed the notes with you one more time, and as his eyes scanned the paper, he seemed to realize something.

“Before I start my search, I may have one thing for you now,” said the man, setting aside his notes. “I have a few items to return from a shopping trip for my last client that were turned down, but as long as you’re here now, this might do you more good sooner than later. Wait here.”

You had already gotten to your feet to leave, Verstael already hovering by the door. Under the impression that you would be returning in the near future to see the results of the consultant’s shopping, you had been expecting to return to the facility empty handed.

Laurent disappeared into the back room of the office, then returned holding something behind his back. 

You gave a skeptical look at the childishness of the gesture, but when the item was produced, your expression softened slightly, looking back to Laurent with surprise. “A hat?”

It was almost certain that you wouldn’t be allowed to wear such a thing in the Emperor’s court, so it hadn’t even come up in the conversation, you realized, though he had measured the crown of your head anyway.

Laurent nodded, tilting his head to the side. “Only if you want it. I didn’t ask your opinion on headgear, but… I know you’re in my office at nearly 8pm because you wanted to stay out of the sun. I would suggest sunscreen, normally? But this will keep it off your head and out of your eyes.”

He passed the black hat into your hand while you studied it. You weren’t sure you would really ever wear a fedora, but the wide brim _would_ protect you from smouldering in the sun. Give you more freedom to take back the daylight hours.

“Go ahead and try it on,” he said. “My last client turned it down as soon as he saw it. ‘No hats,’ he said, but it should be your size.”

You gave a sort of bewildered look to Verstael, who twitched his jaw and gave a slight roll of his eyes. 

It didn’t exactly match what you currently wore, but you stood up a little straighter, placing it on your head. It was a little stifling, you thought, but he was right that it had fit well. 

If it afforded you more comfort in the sun, you would take it whether it looked good or not. Still, you ducked into view of a hanging mirror on the wall, turning your head again. A slight smile as you inspected your reflection. With your new hair, and this hat, you didn’t recognize this person at all. It made you feel less like a lab rat.

“I’ll take it,” you said to Verstael, nodding.

He didn’t complain as he paid Mr. Tregaire, a pleasant surprise, considering the extra expense of the hat.

There was a threat that you would be back in about two weeks to review what he’d come back with. Other than the length of the trip, due to Verstael’s research lab being so far from civilization, you were curious to see what Laurent would come up with. 

The hat, you removed, carrying at your side instead. After all, the night air was kind to you, even choked by the sprawling city.

You gave a soft sigh.

“Where to next?” you asked Verstael, who was seated beside you in the back of the car. Unsurprisingly, he preferred the luxury of a personal driver afforded to him by his station. 

“It will be late by the time we arrive at my lab,” he mumbled, as if considering something himself.

“Have you eaten?” you asked. It was a courtesy just to ask; he had been at your side the whole day. You didn’t think you were very difficult to babysit, but he was probably hungry. Most of the time, you forgot to even consider eating, unless invited to do so. You would eat, to be polite, or on a whim, but hunger didn't gnaw at you the way you remembered.

“When would I have had the time?” he said, pulling his hand away from where he had been rubbing at his temple to look at you.

“I’m in no hurry to return,” you said. “You pick the place. If you count _this_ as a business expense, I won’t tell a soul.”

“I’m not sure what it is you aren't getting about the fact that I cannot do that, but I will take advantage of your time,” he said, exhaling sharply.

He instructed the driver finally, and at the next light, the car strayed away from the road back to the research facility.

* * *

When you returned to Gralea two weeks later, you were asked to try on a number of garments that Laurent had purchased on your behalf. 

There was quite a lot to choose from, and a lot of items that Laurent suggested that you layer on top of the filmy, long sleeved shirt. The semi translucent fabric was very soft and airy, perfect for layering, so on top of that you wore a layered waistcoat, paired with pinstriped trousers, and over all of this, a long black coat. The coat had a fair amount of embroidered detail, and it crossed your mind that you couldn't imagine where he had purchased it. Perhaps it had been a very limited release item?

You presented yourself to Laurent, who leaned back to look at you, nodding. "Did you notice the number of accessories I laid out with the other garments? This is a complete outfit on its own, but if you aim to impress the imperial court, I have a few items that will really tie everything together."

You watched as he stood by the table, where he selected a handful of scarves, approaching you again. He held a few of them up to beside your face, comparing the colors.

"You have very interesting eyes," he commented, setting one of the scarves aside. "I was a little worried about matching them, since they're so unique, I picked out a number of patterns just to see what worked."

"It's a rare genetic mutation," you said glibly. "Do you like them?"

Laurent paused when he came to a faded peach colored thing, tilting his head as he looked at you, into your eyes. "Yes, I think this will draw out the color nicely. Let's use this to break up the negative space here."

You leaned forward slightly for him to drape it over your shoulders, in such a way that it wrapped around your collar comfortably, and tucked under your coat.

You turned back to the mirror, taking a few moments to preen. You tugged at your clothes to study the details a bit closer. 

"What do you think of these?" he asked, stepping aside again to show you a selection of gloves. 

You looked skeptical at best, noting the variety of neutral colors and styles of gloves.

"It's traditional to cover your hands in the imperial court, as part of a show of status, or just when meeting important persons," he said, clasping one hand over the back of the other to demonstrate. "You're not from Nifleheim originally?"

Well. Accordo was technically part of the Empire, but with relatively minimal interaction with Niflheim's culture, there was no way you could have known. Now that you thought about it, though, Verstael always covered his hands, but you were sort of under the impression that it was because of his work. Even now, he enjoyed an amount of power within his station, so that sort of made sense.

"I'm… originally from Lucis," you said, lowering your voice as if telling him a great secret. It was a half truth, but that gave you enough of an excuse. 

"Oh? Then you're a long way from home, aren't you? It's alright, we can't help where we come from," he said, nudging the display closer to you.

You finally examined the gloves. The idea felt a bit stifling, so you selected a fingerless pair instead of a full pair. It probably lacked some tact, but you actually liked the look as you tugged them on. 

Laurent came back with one more item, one that you couldn't immediately distinguish as a garment at first. Whatever it was, it was placed around your shoulders, wrapping in such a way that it fell loosely with a satisfying swish. 

You patted down the front of your assembled outfit, smoothing it over the contours of your body. 

"I was afraid we might have to make some adjustments, but everything seems to fit you perfectly," said Laurent, no doubt impressed by his own work. "What do you think? How does it feel?"

"Very comfortable," you murmured, a creeping smile on your previously surprised features. 

Turning to one side in the mirror, it was leaps and bounds more attractive than the drab prison clothes you'd been given before. It felt good to break away from the image Ardyn had presented you with before. Now that you had clothes of your own, you felt like your own person. This decision had been with the supervision of someone who, admittedly, did know how to dress you better than you did, but it was your _own_ decision. Everything else you did seemed ordained by a higher power, but not your attire. If this body belonged to you, you would make it yours. 

"It's perfect," you said, nodding to the stylist. 

How did you feel?

Like you could take on anything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To be completely clear, the reader is wearing Ardyn's regular outfit but they don't know that, they didn't really pick their clothes so I thought that would be a good way to get them to dress like that without like. "ooo supernatural influence" or whatever, but you could also read it that way if you want haha.
> 
> Anyway I just thought I'd write something sort of mundane more for myself than anything.


	8. M.E. 722-V-17th

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw for this chapter?? for... violence? I guess? for stuff? sorry lol!

You awoke in an unfamiliar place.

The sunlight streamed across your face, but didn't burn, a pleasant warmth from the sunlight streaming between the canopy of trees overhead. There was something soft under your head, but with your newly opened eyes still sensitive to the light, you couldn't see much of anything. 

"Good morning, Ardyn," came a warm voice. The tenderness with which it was said would have melted you entirely, if you weren't so disoriented. 

You sat up quickly, hearing the sound of crunch grass and leaves as you moved. 

Scanning the area, you saw a sparse forest surrounding you, but it was only when you felt a hand on your arm that you looked behind you. 

A golden blonde woman who looked to be about thirty was staring at you with concerned eyes, a faltering smile that failed to hide the extent of her worry.

"It's just us," she said, reassuringly. "I've watched over you this whole time… if you require rest, I implore you to take advantage of this reprieve."

Her name escaped you, but seeing her face brought you only feelings of confused frustration, like an old wound. 

You looked down at your hands, at your body, noticing first the long hair that fell into your eyes once again, and then the white shroud you were clothed in, covering all but the tips of your fingers. It was tattered, hardly even white anymore after so much wear, but you felt immediately that there was a reason you dared not to remove it. 

"Sorry," you said, quietly, determined not to alarm her. 

The woman reached out her hands to cup your face between them, turning her head to one side while she stroked your cheeks with her thumbs. "There is nothing you need to be sorry for. I know your days grow ever more wearying. The gods will speak to me in only a matter of days, and your brother is eager to hear their message. I am not permitted to take sides between you, but I am not blind to Somnus' true feelings."

Your head throbbed, and there was a tickling in your chest, about to be overcome by another fit. You instinctively pulled the ragged cowl over your head as you wrenched yourself away from her, stretching it past your eyes. You tried to clear your throat to stave it off, to little effect. Your chest seized, and the irritation subsided, but it brought no relief.

"Ardyn…" she sighed, touching your shoulder gently.

You cleared your throat again, your breathing uneven. "It's… nothing. I swear."

_Aera._

* * *

Once again, Verstael was called to Gralea, to continue discussions of how to proceed with the creation of his magitek soldiers. 

This time, you would travel with him. Just in case. 

"My work depends on your participation," he said, over breakfast. "I plan to introduce you to him, at which point I expect you to answer any questions he might have. I need you to prove to him that he will see results in my research."

You did not eat, but you listened. "What will I tell him?"

"Whatever you have to, if it will make him listen," he said firmly. "I must continue to prove the worth of my research, to keep my funding. His Radiance is… in a delicate emotional state, right now. His wife is deathly ill, and has been for some time now. They say she's likely to expire any day now."

"You want me to take advantage of a grieving man?" you asked, pressing your lips together tightly. Sure, it was the man whose family line had crushed nations, wiped out small towns to suit their own needs, for hundreds of years, but…

"Oh, Izunia, don't tell me you're having regrets now," mumbled Verstael. "I'm asking you to _talk_ to him, not daemonify his dying wife."

Your head felt slightly clouded, and you clutched it with one hand. "No, you're right. Talking to someone is not the worst thing I've ever done to another."

You had seen and heard things no mortal was ever meant to see, in the Infernian's memories. By all definitions, you were not technically mortal by human standards, but no one was meant to live as long as you, and even you should not have seen beyond the years you'd been alive, even in the memories of others. To see so far, to nearly the earliest reaches of time, was far too much. If you hadn't broken the connection when Ifrit released you, it might have broken you instead.

"Now that that's squared away," you mumbled, looking into the water glass in front of you. "Remind me of the details again. I'm afraid I'm not thinking very clearly today; I didn’t sleep well.”

“Perhaps I should have you do another sleep study,” commented Verstael, inspecting the tines of his fork. “There is plenty of time before we reach Gralea, but you must retain at least some of this. We will be visiting for three days, so if you don’t see him today, then there will still be time. But you must. Pay. Attention.”

* * *

For being family, you didn’t know Somnus all that well, as a person. His actions spoke loudly enough. After all, he was only your half brother. Though your parents had hoped you would view each other as equals, they had died even before either of you could learn which of you would ascend the throne. 

Historically, the Founder King had a reputation as someone who had banished the scourge from the world, traveling with the Oracle and amassing the aid of the Astrals. How this was supposedly accomplished, you couldn’t fathom, considering that if the Six had the power to end the scourge, you wouldn’t still carry it within you, nor would you spread it to others at a whim. If the royal line of Lucis had “embellished” you from the records, then there was no doubt that the entire tale was an embellishment itself. 

It was no secret that both of the sons of House Caelum traveled the countryside to approach the scourge in their respective attempts, but while Somnus approached the plague like every situation he faced, as a callous brute, you were actually offering people aid instead of a means to an end.

True, you were able to help far fewer people than your brother could corral and burn, but those you offered your aid to were still _living_ , and that meant everything.

But it was also true that while the people your hand extended to were healed, your gift was ravaging your own body. 

Hence, the coughing fits, the color that was steadily draining from your skin as your illness progressed, the bulging, purplish veins that subsided when your fits ended… 

Hence, the cloak.

You weren’t truthfully sure how long you could survive before either you passed, or something worse happened. All you could do was continue to heal as many as you could reach before that time came.

It was no wonder why the people preferred you, over Somnus.

Even as you arrived to hear Aera’s divine message, as you stared down the blade of your brother’s Yaksha blade. The people, some of them ineligible members of your House, others regular citizens who had come to see their king’s coronation, still believed in _you._

Until your rage at your brother’s betrayal triggered one last fit, and you succumbed. Until the scourge poured from your mouth and eyes, engulfing your body in dark, hazy flames that licked at everything around you as you howled mercilessly.

Until you became a monster.

Somnus had carried out your execution himself, immediately and without remorse, no matter what he might have claimed. 

Dying had been easier, you thought, than realizing that you had come back.

And it had frightened and shamed Somnus so much that he was forced to imprison you instead.

* * *

You didn’t think you needed to sleep, but it was much kinder to yourself to just give in and shut everything down for just a few hours. You wondered if Verstael thought you rude for falling asleep during the ride.

There was no grand reception to your arrival. Not that you had expected the emperor himself to appear, or that you really knew what to expect in the first place. 

“His Radiance sends his apologies,” the man who greeted you was saying. “But he is presently occupied. I have been instructed to show you to your guest quarters, for the time being.”

Verstael seemed annoyed by the inconvenience, and sighed impatiently. “Very well. I will wait as long as His Radiance wishes.”

The steward nodded, then his eyes fell to you. “And… your guest?”

You realized you were expected to answer for yourself. “Ardyn Izunia. Chief Besithia has asked me to accompany him today. I apologize, if my presence is a surprise.”

Verstael rolled his eyes, motioning to you. _“This_ is one of the matters I wished to discuss with His Radiance. I assure you, I mean no deception, but his presence is necessary to display the results of my research.”

The steward studied you warily, suddenly, as if trying not to meet your eyes fully. A fan of yours, evidently? You pressed a finger to your lips in a shushing gesture, a slight smile as the man looked away from you.

“I see. I didn’t have a room prepared for him in advance, but if you don’t mind waiting, I will be happy to accommodate you,” he said. 

You followed the steward with Verstael, to his accommodations for the duration of the visit. Much of the Keep reminded you of the facility you had come from, though the entryway for guest reception seemed far more grand. 

"You may wait here, for the time being," said the steward, and you obliged.

You found yourself a comfortable wall to lean against, even though the pristine bed with too many pillows for your liking did look awfully tempting. 

* * *

The stench of blood was overwhelming. 

Your eyes opened, staring at the high arching ceiling of the crystal audience chamber. 

Bile rose in your mouth, and with a great effort, you rolled over, crying out in pain. Something prevented you from lying flat on your stomach, but you didn't have time to think about it. Your eyes squeezed shut from the intense pain wracking your body as you vomited on the floor.

The bile was actually the scourge, you realized, freezing as you looked at the scene around you. Blood and scourge stained the floor all around you, sending another wave of pain and nausea through you.

Your hand, pale and trembling, reached to your abdomen to alleviate the pain.

What you found instead was steel, warm to the touch from the heat of your body.

Frozen again, you looked down, whimpering. 

Somnus’s sword, the Yaksha blade, pierced clean into your middle. A liquid too dark to be blood ebbed from the wound, then faded, over and over. The wound was trying to heal, but the sword was preventing it from doing so.

You retched again, hoarsely, palming at the blade. Why hadn’t it been recalled to its owner? What was it doing lodged in your chest? _Why were you still alive?_

Your breathing was becoming more uneven, quicker and more shallow as you tried to process everything. Unfocused eyes gazed up at the Crystal towering high above you. It rejected you… Rejection… From a being Aera had assured you had no thoughts or feelings of its own. It had spit you out.

_Aera._

You thought you might have heard someone speaking, but you looked frantically for something. The sword in your middle caused you to hiss in pain as you tried to move, and you fell onto your back again, agonized. Weak hands clutched the blade, unable to think clearly as you forced it back out, crying out, what you hoped were only tears pricking at your eyes until the blade fell out of your hands, clattering to the floor beside you. Your chest heaved as you panted, still whimpering softly.

“Gods, he’s still alive,” you heard someone say, a murmur of disgust.

You heard footsteps, you thought, but couldn’t bring yourself to move even a centimeter, barely twitching your fingertips in response.

“Take the Oracle’s body from him.” _Somnus’s voice._

“...Aera?” you asked weakly, finding the strength to raise your head again. 

You heard the sound of magic being dispelled; the sword had disappeared.

 _“Restrain him,”_ came an urgent order.

“Your Majesty!” answered a handful of voices. 

The footsteps scrambled against the stone as you tried again to pull yourself up.

The first hand to touch you earned a deep snarl from someplace in the back of your throat. You tried to wrench your hand away but were powerless as the guard pulled you up by your shoulder so roughly you might have heard something pop. You were startled enough to turn sharply, lunging with your other hand. 

Other hands soon joined the one supporting you, but not before your hand made contact with the first guard’s chest, rage itself acting through you. The scourge left its mark, swallowing the man, seizing and crying, whole.

"By the Six..."

The other guards soon released their own hold on you, retreating swiftly as you fell back to the ground with a dull thump. 

The sound of heavy boots approached you.

“Your Majesty, your brother--” cried one fearful voice.

 _“Ardyn_ is no longer with us,” spat Somnus, his voice drawing closer. “This creature is not my brother, nor can it be dealt with lightly. Gilgamesh.”

A cold hand gripped your wrist, pulling you up once again, then bringing your other hand to join it. You tried to move your wrists, but the giant held them high above your head, your legs dangling at least a foot off the ground.

“Where is Aera?” you whispered, suddenly remembering something.

“The Oracle?” your brother sneered, looking into your eyes. “She’s dead, dear brother. Because of _you._ If you had only listened to me and ceased your futile healings, she would still be alive.”

“Liar!” you snarled, struggling against the man holding you. The face of the guard who had succumbed to the scourge flashed in your mind, but you couldn’t focus, your vision still swimming.

Somnus stepped aside and motioned with his hand. The Yaksha blade was summoned to his side and he pointed with the end of the sword to a small, white body, crumpled on the ground, flowing dress stained by your mixing blood. “No matter what you may believe happened, she _is_ dead. Can a daemon still feel love? Or regret? I certainly hope not, for your sake.”

Another howl rattled through your weakened form, giving you strength as you fought against Gilgamesh’s grip. You wanted to be free. _To wring Somnus’s_ neck, _if ever you could reach him._

“Take him to the stake,” said Somnus, turning away from you.

You burned, but you didn’t die. Until the onlookers grew bored, and the flame smouldered out, ash curling at your feet in the solemn wind.

This was Somnus’s second attempt. There would not be a third.

With your hands bound, you could do nothing but weep, agonizing, teeth gnashing, as so many hands carted you far from the home you had grown to hate. Once they grew tired of carrying you, they forced you to walk. The hands no longer carried you, but they instead beat and bruised, unafraid now that you were refusing to react. Your hands bound, you stumbled in silence, and simply allowed them to hang you by your wrists, by your sides, chaining you, suspended in the air on a secluded island.

And then, they forgot you.

* * *

A hand on your arm shook you awake, and you growled in the back of your throat, one hand unconsciously darting out towards your attacker.

 _“Izunia!”_ shouted Verstael, flinching violently away from your grasp. 

You came to your senses, the dream in which you had been powerless melting away, staring at your half-gloved hand. You stepped away from where you had been leaning against the wall, your back and left shoulder more than a little numb.

“I… I am so sorry,” you muttered, lowering your head. “I didn’t realize where I was.” 

Verstael’s face looked paler than normal, but he shook his head. You could tell his breathing was a little quicker, his shoulders stiffer. “You need to take better care of yourself.”

You didn’t bother telling him what he already knew: that your body would just keep sustaining you no matter what you did to it.

“Nightmares,” you said simply, tilting your head just a bit. Even if you were sleeping properly, and you had slept quite a bit, it wasn’t a restful sleep. Your mind wasn’t allowing you any peace, even though that life had never been yours.

He stepped back, clasping his hands together in front of himself. “You had better learn to control them. I can’t afford any incidents like this with the Emperor.”

“It won’t happen again,” you said, giving a weak smile. “Did you need something from me?”

Verstael gave a short nod. “Dinner will be ready shortly, but the Emperor will not be in attendance. You will meet him tomorrow.”

A sly smile, as you began to relax. “Then I shall be on my best behavior.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I dont know if I made it clear or not but the reader, in the dreams, is just a passenger, they're just viewing these things happening and aren't actually making any decisions. I thought about swapping the pov to just "Ardyn" but I thought that might be slightly more jarring?
> 
> Anyway I feel like my subconscious is trying to tell Me to get more sleep, but I hope you enjoy this chapter


	9. 722-V-17th (night)

You were uncertain how much of the Keep you were permitted to roam on your own, or really even if you were permitted to leave your room without being invited at all.

Though the question formed in your mind, you really weren’t concerned with the answer, as you stepped out of your own guest room. 

You passed a patrolling guard, and as you did, your appearance changed. It would be much easier to wander, disguised as one of the patrol's own men. You really shouldn't have been trusted with that power, you decided, abusing it immediately. 

Because of your troubling dreams, you had less interest in resting now that the night had come. You craved fresh air. That was the only cure for the thoughts plaguing your mind. 

You had not lived the things you saw in your dreams, but you felt them. Your hand moved slowly to the place where Somnus's sword had pierced you, your breath hitching as if it were still there. What met your hands, however, was not the sword that had ended your life properly for the first time, but a plate of metal. Your posture relaxed, and you rapped your fingers against the plate, giving a small sigh. 

Truth be told, you didn’t know where you were going, as you walked the hallways. Memories you had taken from Verstael’s men were slightly muddled, and many of them had not been stationed in Zegnautus for very long, if at all. There was an easy way to acquire a better mental map of the area, but it was clearly out of the question. 

It took some time, and a lot of wandering, but at least you knew what direction you wanted to be heading: wherever would take you to the roof. One thing that you had concluded from your search was that you had had enough of the dismal place. For a nation whose leader was referred to as “radiant,” the back rooms that were not meant to entertain guests were a little too grim for your tastes.

At least the exits were clearly marked, but you could smell the night air before you even opened the door. Your illusion faded back to normal as you let yourself out.

The relief as you stepped into the wind that ruffled your hair was almost instant. 

You really did spend too much time cooped up indoors, you thought. Then again, it wasn’t as though you presently had much control over how your time was spent, even if you weren’t a prisoner. If you really desired, there was nothing stopping you from doing exactly what you were doing now, though. Perhaps it was your own fault for not taking advantage of it.

The roof’s overlook was an expectedly great view of the city skyline. You had never had a chance to admire Gralea’s sights before, the two times you’d been before. There couldn’t have been a better place from which to see the imperial city. It was far more lively than most of Accordo at night, that was for certain, lights in various districts showing points of high activity. If things were very different, you might have found yourself in the streets with the crowd. You doubted you would ever have a real idea of what it was like to be an average imperial citizen, now that you technically had the paperwork to prove that you were counted as one.

You wandered the expansive stretch of the roof, mulling over what you were to do about your meeting with the Emperor. It would obviously not be a one on one meeting, but you wondered what you would do if you were asked to demonstrate your abilities. Before an emperor, you guessed, you would do as instructed. At least absorbing more memories would probably offer you more insight, if you were asked to do so. 

Even though Verstael had implied that the Emperor didn’t know that much about you, it would be difficult to convince him of what you brought to the table without showing him. You were certain that Verstael’s success was already guaranteed, considering that the construction for the new facility was already scheduled to take place, but he wanted you to cement his plans anyway. Having so much time to kill left too much time to dwell on it.

You wandered until you came upon another hatch to return to the massive fortress’s interior. It was a long way back to the door you had come out from, so you let your curiosity get the better of you while you explored. 

Raising the disguise you previously wore, you stepped back into the back hallways of the Keep. You must have been on the other side of the fortress. It was astonishing how much ground could be covered by going around. On the other hand, you didn’t recognize anything around you. _Not a good look, for an imperial trooper,_ you thought with a smirk. 

No matter, you would find your way back to the guest quarters. Easier said than done, but you had time.

You succeeded in one thing, at least. Following a wide door led back into the grand hallways of the inhabited section of the Keep. Back where you were meant to be, as a guest, although the portion of it you found yourself in didn’t look particularly familiar either.

It was while you stood in the middle of an intersection that you realized someone’s footsteps were coming up behind you. Much lighter than that of the regular soldiers. You froze in place as the steps approached.

“Good evening,” said the approacher in passing acknowledgement, a soft voice that surprised you.

Your shoulders stiffened.

That was a voice you heard only on special occasions, rarely, and only over TV or radio.

Before you stood the Emperor of Niflheim himself, without any sort of security detail, staring at you with colorless eyes. Your reaction must have been suspect, because he had come to a stop right beside you. You did not let your surprise show on your face, even under the patrolman’s helmet, but you felt an air of unease.

You saluted him, to his amusement, for some reason.

"Is this your station, lieutenant?" he asked, not bothering to hide that he was mocking you. "Your greeting leaves much to be desired. Are you certain you truly are one of ours?"

You had done the salute you always saw on TV--was that the wrong salute? 

"You may show me your true nature. If this is an assassination, then you already have my attention," he said, turning to face you fully. “Your salute is mirrored, as if copying it from only having seen it performed before. At the very least, you are no soldier.”

The man truly wasn't afraid, despite his suggestion that you might have been sent to kill him. Perhaps he thought you incompetent, if you were an assassin. Most likely, he expected you to remove the helmet worn by your disguise.

Instead, you gave an inquisitive tilt of your head, then released your illusion, showing him the truth. You gave a low bow, unsure if your behavior were appropriate, but you were only trying to appease him anyway, for the time being.

"Remarkable," Iedolas murmured, looking down at you. "I suppose I should have chosen my words more carefully. I'm afraid this only raises more questions."

You lifted your head, then slowly returned to a standing position. "Ardyn Izunia. I've come here with Chief Besithia. Presently, I am meant to be in my quarters, but I left for a little fresh air."

Iedolas's dull eyes lit up in recognition. "Besithia's discovery… you are the one he found in the Lucians' sacred ground. Adagium. Am I correct?"

You were taken slightly aback by how much he knew already. He must have seen the reports; Verstael had received his approval already, and you were at the crux of his progress. Of course the Emperor had heard of you.

"Yes, Your Radiance, that is correct," you said, mimicking Verstael's instruction to address the man before you. "It was thoughtless of me to roam where I haven't been invited. I am truly sorry."

Iedolas only half seemed to register what you were saying, eyes boring through you. 

"Mr… Izunia, was it? I have read the reports filed by Chief Besithia," he said carefully, his eyes refocusing on you. "I have… heard some things about your history. Is it true that you were once a healer, much the same as the Oracles of House Fleuret?"

You answered a bit reluctantly. You were uncertain you could still _heal,_ but that was one ability you had never been asked to demonstrate. "At one time, I acted as a healer of sorts, yes. It has been… a very _long_ time since then, however. Do you have need of a healer?"

 _"Dire_ need," he answered, nodding his head slowly. He shifted his weight so that he was leaning back, releasing a grounding sigh. "My wife is very ill, ever since giving birth to our son. Her health has taken a turn for the worse recently; any day now could very well be her last..."

A chill went down your spine. "You would ask _me_ to heal her? Forgive me, Your Radiance, but why not the Oracle herself?"

Iedolas frowned deeply, and for a moment you believed he was angry with you for how you spoke to him, but he shook his head, apparently in thought. "I have sent for the Oracle, but I fear she will arrive too late. If you are capable of such a thing, I would have you at least try."

"It has been a very long time since I healed anyone. Unless your wife has fallen ill with the starscourge, I'm not certain I can be of any help," you said. His insistence was increasingly weighing on you. You couldn't refuse, yet… "What should happen if I fail?"

Iedolas pursed his lips together tightly, a calculating look actually directed at you this time. "Her fate is already certain, if you do nothing. If even you cannot heal her… then she will know peace soon enough. You’ve lived long enough that I must believe that even you have experienced loss at one point in your life."

The image of Aera's quickly cooling body, the weight you held in your arms as she fell against you, flashed into your mind. You may not have known Aera personally, but you had lost enough in your own life to understand what death was, even if you felt as though you were forgetting. Iedolas was attempting to appeal to you as a fellow human, and even though he was a bit far from the mark, you felt you couldn't refuse.

"Of course, I will try," you said, firmly. 

Iedolas turned suddenly on his heel, his long white robes trailing after him. "I will take you to her."

This was an odd scene, you thought, and one you felt you had no business being in. You were sure you weren't creative enough to imagine something like this happening, when you were in Accordo. When you were yourself. Even now that things were so drastically different, being asked to heal the Empress seemed an unrealistic stretch, knowing that _you_ had never healed anyone. 

Still, you had been the one who said yes. You matched Iedolas's strides, walking behind him as he led you deep into the Keep. 

The hall seemed to stretch on forever, turning only occasionally. This was a part of the Keep you were _certain_ you were not meant to be in, opening for you only because you accompanied the Emperor. There were multiple guard checkpoints between you and where the living quarters became far more grand. This was a wing made for someone of the greatest importance. 

It was almost daunting, but you were hardly surprised at the conditions the ruler of an entire nation was allowed to enjoy. It left a bit to be desired of your own lodgings, though your tastes weren’t quite _this_ grandiose.

He brought you to a high-ceilinged room, passing yet another pair of guards directly outside the Empress’s bedchamber. In the center was a circular canopy bed, presently vacant. Starting against one wall and spreading across the room like an infection, there was a lot of medical equipment. Various monitors and machines surrounded a hospital bed with a lone figure in it. 

Empress Phasma had been a very private figure. Few photos existed of her in your time, and her face left no impression in your mind, as you couldn't even see half of it for the oxygen mask she wore.

"Your Radiance…" you breathed, as the man urged you into the room. "I am not a doctor. Surely, you know why the Lucians locked me away?"

Verstael had instructed you to say nothing about yourself if it could be helped, but the Emperor was beyond fazing, and was more attentive to detail than he had been given credit for. Evidently, nothing you could say would sway him from his request.

Iedolas shook his head. "This is my last resort. Medicine did not help, but I refuse to let her go without exhausting my options."

You passed the bed, crossing the marble floor, which was scuffed by the hauling of equipment. As you approached, a knot formed in your stomach. It was obvious that the woman was comatose. Whatever ailed her was not definitely not the scourge.

"I will have to touch her," you said, looking at Iedolas. "If I have your permission…"

Iedolas merely nodded his head, opening his palm in a gesture for you to commence your attempt.

_Oh, how did this go again?_

Memories of before you inhabited this body were few and far between, unfortunately. Verstael had known of your healing abilities because you had told him as much, but to say you remembered _how_ was another thing entirely. 

Iedolas's eyes bored into you, watching your hands with an intentness that you had not expected from the man. No matter your fears, you were expected to perform as he asked, no longer giving you any time to wait. You reached out to Phasma’s side, placing your hand over hers. 

As you closed your eyes, in your mind, you tried to capture the feeling recalled only in your dreams. To call out to her, and draw out her illness. Mend whatever affliction had befallen her. 

It was sort of like a prayer.

A surge of power prickled at your fingertips, like the digits had numbed with a gentle tingling. It was… surprisingly unpleasant. Your frown deepened as you got a feel for the sensation, and events, her memories, began to play backwards in your mind. A feeling like someone had dowsed you in ice water fell over you. 

You were never one for prayer, anyway.

Your eyes flew open, looking down at the woman’s hand, which you released immediately. The scourge marred the skin of her hand, a purplish aura seeping off of it, but without the connection, the spread ceased. Her brow creased, the fingers twitching in discomfort. She did not wake. 

“I did not mean--” you began, but Iedolas silenced you by raising one hand.

Iedolas stepped forward to look more closely at the damage you had done. You put a hand up in protest as he drew closer, but he ignored you. “No matter what others have done using medicine, she does not move, or respond to the world around her at all. What have you done differently?”

“It’s been too long since I performed a healing. I have accidentally inflicted the scourge on her,” you said slowly, watching him through the corner of your eye. The Emperor did not appear upset with you, instead fascinated. Why? “Allow me to give it a second try, I can remove the scourge.”

“No, this is the most lively I’ve seen my Phasma since before she fell ill,” he said, standing too close for your comfort, but he thankfully didn’t touch her. “Please, continue.”

“Continue, Your Radiance?”

 _Continue?_ The spread of general knowledge of the scourge may have been a little fuzzy when it came to the specifics, but he must have known what would happen. Empress Phasma vanishing from her bed and becoming a daemon was the _best_ case scenario, assuming she took no casualties. 

He stepped back, nodding to you. “Consider it a direct order.”

You moved your hands slowly, so you had an extra moment to study him. His jaw was set with determination, his eyes were on her alone, somehow foggy. The way he spoke, his insistence, his urgency, was unsettling. You were not under his employ, but this was an order with which you could comply. Easily.

Her hand in yours again, you summoned that familiar rage. This part, you understood. Through your hands, you drained her.

The scourge spread quickly and relentlessly as you willed it, overtaking the woman’s body. Her body was being swallowed by the inky blackness, fading away, and as it progressed, she began to awaken. 

A haunting look appeared set on her face as her eyes opened for the first time, pitch black save for ghostly purple irises.

"Phasma," gasped out Iedolas beside you, but something kept him from rushing to her side. You hoped it was his self-preservation instincts kicking in, finally.

Phasma's body began to seize, convulsing wildly as she opened her mouth, revealing too sharp teeth. As she shook, she let out a piercing wail, shrieking incoherently into the night at a supernatural volume.

The Emperor seemed only emboldened by this. "You will not stop unless I wish it."

You didn't respond, but you didn't stop it either. Even if you stopped the process, it was too late for her. It was only when her memories ceased to flow that she ceased her screams, instead collapsing on the bed. She evaporated, leaving only the hospital gown she wore behind.

A furious knock against the door startled you, and a moment later, several armed guards poured into the room. Unsurprisingly, the screaming must have alerted them, but the scene they walked in on was beyond a simple explanation.

At the same time, Phasma rose from the malicious mist she had been reborn from. Her form pulled itself up, as if by her core as she rose to her feet out of the haze, then slowly straightened herself out. 

Her body was much the same, but colder, crueler, somehow emaciated as in life but elongated. As more guards rushed into the room, a growing number of them stared up in horror at the daemon before them.

She shrieked again, to such an extent that the lights in the room flickered, then burst, leaving the room in darkness, save for the Empress, bathed in an unholy light.

Her hair flowed around long horns that trailed behind her. Ragged wings unfolded like a high-collared cloak around her shoulders, a spaded, bony tail curling around one of her legs. Her eyes were covered by what appeared to be a thorny growth that crossed her face, tangled with her dark, stringy hair, only one eerie eye unhidden enough to peer down at you. She stared at you, then at Iedolas, then descended upon the gathering crowd with long-clawed hands outstretched.

Panic broke loose.

"Protect the Emperor!" came a rallying cry, followed by several echoing voices. 

Your attention only on the newly-made daemon, you raised your arm to summon your Armiger and subdue the daemon quickly. Things couldn’t get any messier than they already were unless you did nothing, after all. 

Before you could do anything, several hands clawed at you. They gripped your upper arms and shoulders, dragging you back out of the room. To resist in your position would be unwise, so you fell still, and allowed them to carry you away. The Emperor’s soldiers would have to be enough to face the daemon, you guessed.

As you were being carried away, an image of the imperial dungeons flickered into your mind. The parting gift of Phasma’s memories would prove quite useful, making it easier to navigate the massive ship. Iedolas didn’t need to know the specifics of what you had done, so the memories you took would remain your secret. 

You were thrown into a cell, and promptly locked away, not for the first time, but you hoped it would be the last. It would be easy, you thought, to warp out of your cell through the bars. It would also only cause more trouble, so you would play polite for now. 

You remained there until morning, reflecting only on the events that you had seen. At least the dreams would not plague you if you didn't force yourself to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, everyone! My copy of the novel finally came in the mail today, so I guess I'm gonna spend the rest of the day reading that c: 
> 
> Anyway, thank you for your continued support!!


	10. M.E. 722-V-18th

You had to admit, Verstael's expression when he came to collect you in the morning was funny. Perhaps it was just the feeling of being slightly disconnected from reality at all times, but you couldn't help but smile at him despite your situation. 

Verstael came alone, and you couldn't be sure what time it was, but it appeared he had only just woken up recently. He was something of an early riser when he could help it, but there was a possibility that someone else had done the waking.

It was made funnier to you by the fact that you knew Verstael was well aware that the bars were not the thing containing you in the cell. That was just propriety. 

Verstael clutched the bars of your cell. He looked himself like a caged animal from where you sat, just far back enough on the bench that you could dangle your long legs ever so slightly, your hands innocently at the edge of the bench. The man looked like he would have a fit.

" _What_ did I say to you _explicitly?_ " he hissed, doing a poor job of whispering. "I asked you to _meet_ him, that was all I asked! Your meeting was to be today! You couldn't even wait? You just had to find some way to jeopardize this?"

"You were the one who said--"

"I _know_ what I said!" His voice was no longer a whisper, if it ever had been. "I could not have more clearly been exaggerating--and I only said it, never imagining you would be insane enough to do it."

You stared back at him for a few moments.

"Wipe that hideous smile off your face," he scowled, obviously not as amused by this as you.

You did, however, stop smiling. "Sticks and stones."

"You're lucky there are bars between us," he said, giving a sigh. There was no bite to his words. You wondered what his reaction would be if you suddenly warped behind him.

"Are you upset with this turn of events?" you asked, relaxing your posture. You stood up, walking over to him.

"Not entirely," he admitted. "This… will make His Radiance a little easier to convince."

"I only did it because he asked me to," you said, finally admitting it had not been entirely of your own volition. "But… Clearly, a grieving man is not in his right mind. I know now, at least, that I can win him over. You will have your money and your army."

Verstael watched you, taking a tentative step back when you approached. You guessed he was still unhappy with the fact that you had almost ended his life. To be fair, so were you. At your last words, however, you weren’t certain, but you thought you heard him mutter something under his breath.

“Based on what you said yesterday, it sounded like you had reservations about this meeting,” he said, looking up at you. “You’ve changed your mind?”

You frowned. It had seemed like a worse idea only the day before. But then again, that had been before Iedolas had instructed you to _daemonify_ his own wife. Clearly not in his right mind, but that was not the request of a man you should feel guilty for deceiving. Was introducing yourself really a deception? Given that you were not truly who you said you were, it could probably be considered as such, but you highly doubted that mattered to either Iedolas _or_ the man before you. To them, your identity would matter far less than your usefulness. 

“It’s… less a matter of changing my mind, and more one of having confidence that it can be done,” you said, sounding uncertain anyway. You decided to change the subject. “What are the chances of someone coming to let me out of here, currently?”

Verstael opened his mouth to answer, then closed it, setting his jaw. He tilted his head back while he thought, looking with his eyes in the direction of the door he had come in through. “That… is a good question. I was only told that you were here, but not the reason for your confinement. Not that I had to use my imagination, after the broadcast shown this morning. I’ll have to find out myself.”

“Don’t keep me waiting long,” you said, leaning on the bars and keeping your voice low so that only he would hear. “I would prefer not to alarm anyone by letting myself out.”

It wasn’t directly because you had requested it, but Verstael stormed away from your cell without looking you in the eye. Perhaps you shouldn’t have teased him, the timing wasn’t really appropriate anyway. He had said that he had not been informed of the reason you were confined, but he knew what you had done. You weren’t entirely certain what you had done that warranted being locked up, _this_ time, either. But it didn’t take a career in military science to put two and two together.

What was going on outside, you wondered?

Verstael returned, along with what appeared to be a higher ranking officer than the patrolmen you had seen before. The man was fumbling as he moved to release you, seeming embarrassed somehow.

“My apologies, for the inconvenience,” he said, opening the door. “The… commotion last night… I’m afraid we might have jumped the gun, but if you are here on business with Chief Besithia, since His Radiance had not specifically requested that we take you away…”

Higher ranking, but clearly not of any influence, since he stumbled so through the ordeal.

“I’ll pretend it never happened,” you said, putting a hand up in what you hoped might be a calming gesture. Then you turned your attention back to Verstael. “We are still having our meeting later, aren’t we?”

Verstael turned out his palms and shook his head in disbelief. “To my knowledge, it’s not been canceled yet. Then again, amidst all this chaos, anything could happen.”

You simply shrugged, then looked back to the guard, who was motioning for you to follow him back out of the dungeon. Verstael followed behind you, your strides a little more confident now that you knew where you were going. The empress’s understanding of the layout of these far reaches of her world was slightly fuzzy, but evidently she had been here at least once, and from what you remembered of being dragged down there in the first place aided you greatly. 

After walking for some time, you found the guard had brought you back to the main entryway. It was rather close to where your guest rooms had been, if you recalled correctly. The guard retreated back to his post, stumbling through several more apologies on his way out. Did you cut such a suspicious figure that warranted being jailed for accompanying the emperor, then released with such an embarrassing string of apologies? You would have to work on your image.

“What next?” you asked, stepping just a little closer to Verstael.

“For now, we ought to return to our guest rooms, unless you’d like a proper tour of the Keep,” he said, shrugging. “There are even more laboratories beneath us, if you can believe it. I worked here some time ago, for a few years, but ultimately determined that I needed more room to conduct my experiments, away from civilization. I suppose you’ve had enough of such facilities, though.”

You gave a small nod of admittance, a sheepish smile. “I think I have a decent idea of what the fortress is like inside. I’ll take your word for it.”

“Suit yourself,” said Verstael, motioning ahead of himself for you to walk. “Actually, you probably ought to see the broadcast for yourself.”

“It’s already in the news?” you asked, blinking. “This early?”

“Not the details,” he said, walking close beside you. “Just that the empress passed in the night. The commotion over that alone is what woke me, but then I was told you were being held in a cell. I still can’t believe the audacity it takes to do such a thing, knowing very well the risk you were taking.”

“It wasn’t my decision,” you insisted. “He asked me to heal her.”

 _“Heal_ her?” he asked, snapping his head in your direction. Judging by his expression, there were a number of questions going through his mind to follow up with. You decided to cut them off.

“It was an accident,” you said, shaking your head firmly. “It was the first time anyone asked me to heal, do you know that? You’ve kept thorough records, but your interests only lie in the daemons I create. I can remove the scourge, but when I offered, he only insisted that I further the spread. He _knew.”_

“Really,” he murmured, looking back at the hallway ahead of you. “I wouldn’t have expected him to do such a thing, knowing the consequences. Then yes, this will be much easier than I expected.”

You gave a small nod. “I shall follow your lead.”

* * *

The room was cleared of all, save Verstael, yourself, and Emperor Iedolas. Far more private than you anticipated, but the three of you now shared a grave secret: the truth of the empress’s fate.

The news claimed that the empress succumbed to her illness overnight, and that further details could not be released, out of respect for the family’s privacy. Not unusual, given her equally private life. Most likely, from what everyone had told you of her declining condition, preparations had been made long in advance to announce her departure to the beyond, but you could hardly blame the emperor for hiding the truth. Even if he _hadn’t_ been the one to give the order, the nature of the scourge was one that robbed the infected of their dignity. It was kinder to let the public believe she had simply died, though that had likely not been the exact reasoning the Emperor had followed.

“I apologize for the actions of my security,” said Iedolas, addressing you. “It was not on my order that you were imprisoned. Though you were with me when I entered my wife’s chambers, I suppose they overreacted, in last night’s chaos. By no means, do I find fault with you for what happened.”

You had relayed the story to Verstael, but neither of you quite knew how to move on from the subject, now that it was presented to you again.

“What you did last night,” breathed the emperor, his voice nearly cracking. “I have not seen her so lively in a long time. Because of you, my wife yet lives, albeit through a different means.”

That… was an unusual stance on the matter. You stared up at him, gauging his expression, but scanning Phasma's memories did little to help you. She had never seen him like this. Iedolas had been left to begin his mourning process entirely too early. 

“What… happened, after I was taken away, if I may ask?” you asked, looking up at him. 

At this, Iedolas frowned, drawing his brows together. It seemed there was some confusion on that note. “I was moved to a secure location shortly after you were taken away, but I am told that Phasma escaped to safety. Wherever my wife has gone, at least I can be sure that she is well.”

 _Unless the morning sun got to her first._ And you were sure that wasn’t the way the guards had framed the news to Iedolas, either.

“Yes… that is excellent news,” said Verstael, looking at you through the corner of his eye. He expected you to follow through on your promise. "That power is just one that will be responsible for creating our new infantry."

"Your immortal infantry," you added, a twinkle in your eye. "If you have indeed read my file, then you must already know that I myself cannot die. In two millennia, I have not even aged a day. The daemons I create may not have a human form, but they do have my stubbornness. A body that will only vanish _if_ our enemies manage to kill one."

"'Our' enemies," said Iedolas, sitting up in his throne as he gracefully accepted the change in conversation. "As I recall, you yourself are Lucian. We are seeking to acquire territories from Lucis, and ultimately end Insomnia's reign altogether. Are you certain there won't be a conflict of interest?"

If anything, his words only spurred you on. 

"I am, by birthright, Lucian, yes," you said, feeling your smile slip away as you spoke. "But that holds no special significance to me. I am not particularly popular with the Royal family, you see. I would not ally myself with my persecutors."

You said you would follow Verstael's lead, but once you got started, you found yourself doing most of the talking. It was too easy to continue, even though you weren't quite certain where the words were coming from.

"Not just Lucian. Your brother was the Lucian's Founder King. What does that make you?" 

Verstael's eyes flicked back to you. Even now he was observing you. Waiting to see how you would react. 

Your smile returned, but only to hide a grimace.

"I am… A man of no consequence," you answered carefully. "My power, and my magic, are yours. I am the only one who can provide you this service, and I offer it to you freely."

This was punctuated by a low bow, kneeling before the Emperor. Beside you, Verstael’s robes shifted, and you no longer felt his gaze on you, as if he had turned his head away suddenly.

A feeling of lightheadedness swam through you briefly. Was this how the Pyreburner felt, bestowing the gift of fire to the lowly humans? Giddy, with the knowledge that such a gesture was forbidden? And to what end had that helped the Infernian? The people of Solheim turned their backs on the gods and betrayed him. You weren’t sure you would compare yourself to a being you cared so little for, but you couldn’t deny that the sensation felt distantly familiar, if only because of the memories you had stolen. 

The Emperor leaned back in his throne, considering your words.

Verstael spoke up again. “Your Radiance, as mentioned in my report, I plan to use his power to strengthen our numbers. These new models will be far more cost efficient than our current, human forces. The new facility will have a dedicated space to house the specimens created with the cloning technique I’ve invented. This way, they can be stored until they’re ready for deployment. And the citizens of our great nation need not be disturbed to reinforce our ranks.” 

“Cloning…” mumbled Iedolas, mulling it over. “Yes, I did see your explanation in your report. I’m unsure about the process involved, but I do not wish to subject my citizens to the task. If you can guarantee that this plan of yours will keep them safely in their homes, with their families, as we use this new branch to expand our borders, then you have my continued support.”

You had heard enough of the process to know that Iedolas would not understand or appreciate hearing it himself. You hoped Verstael would spare him that information. 

"Furthermore, with more time to study the starscourge plasmodium, there is a chance that greater secrets could be discovered," you suggested, before Verstael could continue, and then it was too late for him to stop you. You were stepping into dangerous territory, but you had his attention. "Your wife is still alive. I can cure the scourge, just as I can bestow it. There is a chance that she could be restored. If such a thing is possible, then you, with her returned to your side, could reign over your vast empire, eternal."

At this claim, Verstael stared at you harshly in disbelief, but quickly recovered. "That possibility _does_ exist. I have yet to understand what it is that makes his body so resilient, but he was once as mortal as any of us. It _is_ something I'm interested in studying myself, but I had planned to do so as a personal project."

Iedolas didn't speak for several long moments. There was that dangerous territory again. As certain as you were that claims of immortality would sway him immediately, he was taking a long time to answer.

"That… is something I will have to consider," he said finally, clenching and unclenching one of his hands. "I expect full reports at the end of each month. And I will let you know once I've made my decision on the subject of… immortality."

Oh, but it was an enticing thought, wasn't it?

* * *

Verstael returned with you to your room to discuss the matter privately. He was silent the entire walk from the throne room, until the door was closed. 

He then locked the chamber door, turned to face you, walked stiffly into the center of the room, where there was a lounger in front of the television. He motioned to you to sit, if you pleased. You did not.

"What were you thinking?" he asked. "Is immortality, as it exists in you, something you can even share with others? That is not a promise I can make with any confidence to the man responsible for funding my work."

You had been caught up in the moment. While Iedolas seemed to believe you, you weren't so sure of the viability of your claim. 

"The… price I paid for this body is steeper than most are willing to give," you said instead. That much was true. "I don't know what caused me to become unable to die in the first place, but it comes with certain downsides that I'm not so sure His Radiance wouldn't regret."

"Then the Emperor is a coward," said Verstael, shaking his head and surprising you. "For such a body, no price is too steep."

"If it can be granted, you mean."

Verstael stood closer to you than you expected, a smirk on his lips. "Perhaps."

"Is that what _you_ want?" you asked.

He tilted his head slightly to the side in response, as if innocently considering the notion for the first time. "I would not refuse the offer. I wouldn't die for a fantasy either."

"That would defeat the purpose," you said, giving him a cheeky smile. “As for His Radiance… Does he need to know? I only said that it would require more research. I promised him nothing.”

“That is evil,” he said, giving a small snort. “He seems to have taken the bait, so I can’t say I disapprove.”

“Well, I am a monster, after all,” you murmured, shaking your head. “Not a descriptor I care for, but occasionally an apt one.”

“Not a monster,” he said, looking up at you. "Your existence defies all understanding of our world. Scientific anomalies don't stay as such forever. You're no monster. You're… a marvel."

Though you had been joking at your own expense, he had taken it too seriously. You couldn’t say that sounded any more appealing to you, turning your head to scratch absently at your neck. “Yes, a marvel, who nearly ended your life yesterday over being woken for dinner. Perhaps you’re the one who ought to take better care of himself.”

He didn’t seem to like that answer very much, instead turning away to sit himself down on the sofa, still looking at you. A few moments later, you joined him, sitting on the far end of the sofa from him, but not meeting his eye.

“This should be a happier occasion,” you said, after a moment. “The meeting went well. I warned you not to worry, didn’t I?”

“The sooner we leave Gralea, the better, in my opinion,” he said, scoffing. “And I won’t have the celebration turn out like last time. That isn’t a side of me you’re likely to see again.”

You chuckled, lifting your head to look at him finally. “Intoxicated and daring me to dethrone a god? No, I should hope not. Not very professional of you.”

Verstael growled under his breath, but waved his hand. “I’m not normally one to mix work with alcohol, considering my distaste for being intoxicated. If I had been in my right mind, I’m sure the night would have ended a little differently.”

Your eyebrows went up at that in mock surprise. “Oh? You mean to tell me you didn’t plan to spend the rest of the night on your knees and clinging to the infirmary’s toilet?”

His expression darkened, his nostrils flaring, but he didn’t turn away from you. “I went to the infirmary to make certain there was no broken glass lodged in my skin after the bulletproof observation window was shattered by a Lucian deity.”

He had definitely looked nauseous, but you decided to drop it.

“How would you have ended the night, then?”

Verstael sighed and shook his head. Evidently, your teasing had put him off of whatever he had been about to say before, because he didn't continue. The curiosity wouldn’t eat at you, but you did wonder.

Still, the two of you had pulled off his grand scheme. It was ultimately his scheme, though you had done much of the legwork. It was partly an attempt to assuage a nagging and ancient anger that you weren’t sure originated from you. You thought you bore very few people any real animosity, but the mention of Lucis, of your persona’s true identity even, made your brain twitch. Hardly a reason to aid in the eventual demise of a foreign land, but in that area, you had little choice.

What would happen if you simply refused to help Niflheim’s cause? Would you have been put right back into your tomb? Or would you be floating in a vat somewhere, for Verstael to study until he discovered how to weaponize the scourge himself? 

The latter seemed more likely, except that it relied heavily on you deciding that it would be more trouble to escape than it would be to allow the experiments to continue. Which… you probably would have done. 

What you absolutely couldn’t abide was the idea of being imprisoned again, by anyone. 

For any reason.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Starting to push in some directions here, lets see where this goes


	11. M.E. 722-V-23rd

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw again for violence, gets kinda dark for a min but it's... fine.

Verstael made good on his threat to treat you to another sleep study. The first one had been fairly conclusive already. Another step in a series of tests that proved some semblance of your humanity, despite a mountain of evidence that said you were something else. You didn't know what to make of it at the time, still didn't, but Verstael was certainly excited about it.

And so here you were again in a dedicated space in the infirmary, patiently allowing him to attach electrodes to your body. It was an uncomfortable position, being this close to him as he arranged them on your face.

"I could have had an assistant do this, you know," he said. "If you find my company unpleasant."

You must have been scowling. 

"I asked for you, didn't I? I prefer you to having some stranger's hands roaming my body," you said, which was the truth. And though Verstael feigned annoyance, he was greatly exaggerating the inconvenience you had caused him. He preferred it this way too. 

"I am not _‘roaming.’_ There are very specific points where the electrodes must be placed in order to monitor your behavior overnight," he said. If he didn't take himself and his work so seriously, you might not have believed him.

You only shrugged in response, lifting your head slightly for him to get a better angle as he pulled the wires in such a way that they shouldn’t disturb you.

“I really think the only issue is the dreams troubling me,” you said, frowning. “This seems a bit excessive.”

Verstael finished attaching the wires to your face, then reached for another two. “It will be good to compare my notes from last time to the results from this test, regardless. It’s possible the reason you complain of feeling unfocused after waking is that you toss in your sleep. I want to see if there’s any change in behavior, since our last test.”

The last time you had done this, you had needed to pull your hair out of his way for him to attach the wires. Now, as he extended one to your bare chest, you only had to tilt your head away from him for a moment. 

“When was the last time you slept for a full eight hours?” he asked.

“All at once? Not since before our visit to Gralea,” you admitted. “I… haven’t been sleeping.”

Your body was none the worse for the wear for it, but your mind really could have used a break. 

“Nearly a week, then?” asked Verstael, only sounding a little surprised. “I would love to know just what it is that keeps an immortal being awake at night.”

You suppressed a sigh. “You’ll have to take me at my word when I say that my dreams would probably seem very boring to you. If you’re that curious, I might indulge you once I wake up.”

He placed the last electrode on your chest, then attached another small device to your finger. 

You flexed your hand, frowning at the device. “I’m not sure how anyone is meant to fall asleep, covered in all of this.”

“You managed it last time,” said Verstael, making some adjustments. His hands might have lingered a fraction of a second too long, but he turned his attention to one of the monitors almost as quickly. “We’ll be monitoring you all night, just like last time. If you remove any of the equipment in your sleep, someone will be along to wake you. Do make an effort to avoid attacking my assistants."

Verstael was a tenacious and very lucky man, but in other words, he would not be waking you himself unless he absolutely had to. It didn’t make you feel better to admit that the idea of anyone other than him being on the receiving end of your anger, should you be woken up, was somewhat relieving. It should have alarmed you that you had a preference at all, but as long as it still bothered you that you could do such a thing accidentally, it was probably fine.

You reached with your free hand to fidget absently with one of the wires. They were meant to stay on all night, and you knew that they would have to. The room was a pleasant color, in contrast to much of the rest of the facility, a sort of warm, pale mint color. The lights were actually on a dimmer, rather than a noisy, industrial switch, so that just such an experiment could be performed, in the event that any of Verstael’s staff needed an evaluation. You knew that many people had been caught sneaking in a quick nap in here, and as such the door had started to be locked when it wasn’t in use, which was most of the time. Despite the intimidating equipment, the room did induce feelings of sleepiness. 

You wondered if it was just because you had been socialized to feel tired in certain atmospheres, knowing that this body didn’t need any sleep at all.

“Don’t mess with them,” warned Verstael, glancing over at you again. 

Rolling your eyes at him, you pulled your hand away. “I suppose I’ll see you in the morning, then.”

“Sleep well,” said Verstael, inching towards the door. He dimmed the lights of the room for you, then exited, leaving you alone.

You did not normally sleep with any sort of aid, if at all, but you had requested the use of the white noise machine. Focusing on something mindless made it easier to drift off.

The dreams that tormented you were not welcome, but at least you could power down for a little while. Give yourself some time to stop thinking so much.

You wondered why, if your body was made to withstand time and the elements, your mind was still plagued by the things that bothered men. Maybe the gods had neglected to consider how such an existence would drain a human mind. Maybe because you weren’t meant to inhabit this body.

It would take a little more than thirty years before you could return to your old life, but for the first time, you wondered if you would even last that long.

* * *

It had started as a simple sparring match. A way to let off some steam, obviously, but there was no real malice behind it. That was what you _did_ when conversation became too heated. Between half brothers, an exchange of blades in a controlled environment was effective, and cathartic. 

The training hall was frequently in use by the palace guards, but when the two of you entered the room, it always emptied almost immediately. Some stood around in the column lined wings to watch your matches, but when it was like this, if you began to argue, no one wanted to be involved. You didn’t blame them. The matters at hand were often petty, but you were pretty sure it was the grim expressions on both your faces that scared them off. In addition to your powers of healing, members of House Caelum had been blessed with a magic of their own. Even though your fights were intended mainly for sport, neither of you hesitated to make use of your armiger, a flashy display that did startle most onlookers.

You used your armiger frequently for storage. Though you had few belongings, those you wished to keep close went there, for easy access. With a flick of your wrist, you could summon the sword gifted to you by your parents, the Rakshasa blade, and you could will it away again just as easily. For whatever reason, when a weapon was summoned to your side during a time of stress, the feeling was vastly different.

As you and Somnus stood across from each other, the air before you summoned your weapons had the feeling of the scent of sulfur before lightning struck. It was as if the room darkened, a pressure building before finally both blades appeared in your respective hands. They didn’t come easily, the force with which they appeared was intense, like shattering glass. That should have been your first clue that something was different about your disagreement. 

You traded blows based on a somewhat arbitrary point system. Blows had to be exchanged fairly, within a certain area of the body, and successful strikes had to be pulled before any real harm could come to the other. Despite the fact that contact was discouraged, the only reason you did not complain that Somnus’s blade clashed too harshly against yours was because you were throwing too much of your own weight into your attacks as well. If he said nothing when your blade came too close to grazing him, then you would not object either.

Or so you thought, anyway. When Somnus swung, decidedly too close to your throat for comfort, you deflected his attack with your own blade, then dismissed your weapon in a show of surrender. There was a fire behind your eyes as you stared at him.

“I do not think it best to continue our fight, if you have unresolved anger,” you said, firmly. You tried to speak evenly, to stay calm, but your eyes betrayed what you thought. 

Still, Somnus dismissed his own blade, his shoulders heaving as he stared back at you. He gave a shake of his head, disbelief rather than disagreement with your statement.

“You do not know what you are doing to our people,” he said, scowling. “They cannot always depend on you. What happens to those who you don’t reach in time? To those who fall ill after you have died? Your work is too slow to wipe out the scourge entirely, it will persist long after both of us are dead, at your pace.”

That was not a thought you confronted eagerly. 

“Wouldn’t you rather the people be alive and well? Would you rather see them all burned?” you asked, letting your mask of amiability slip a little further. 

“Of course not!” he growled. “But there is no _choice!_ The disease cannot be otherwise contained. Your gift may help in the short term, but what if it is never passed down? Will your children have the gift? Will they even lend their services the way you do, if they did? Even if your way was effective, it isn’t sustainable.”

You squared your shoulders, but stood there, giving an unfortunate amount of consideration to what he was saying. 

One of you was to be king. A king was meant to stay in one place, and rule from above. It wasn’t a role that suited you, but you were sure that Somnus would be the wrong choice. Right now, his authority was somewhat limited, but if he had his way, you feared the newly formed kingdom would burn down to its very foundation. That was something of an exaggeration, you knew, but if it would prevent Somnus from taking drastic measures, then you would bear the mantle yourself.

You sighed heavily, though you knew it would only irritate him further. He had no patience for your passiveness, but you remained largely apathetic to that fact as well. 

“Your mother wished for both of us to rule jointly,” you said, ignoring how pointed his gaze grew as you spoke. “Our parents gifted us these blades that we might only raise them in unity, not against each other. Is there no way we can reach an agreement on this? A compromise? Can I not be allowed to offer my help, where it is needed?”

He sneered at you, not bothering at all to hide his anger. “You have no right to tell me what my mother’s wishes were. I am not a child, Ardyn, and Mother’s wishes were vastly different from the will of the Six. I _know_ what our parents wished.”

Opening your mouth, you started to speak, but your words died on your lips as you studied him. There was no give in his expression, and if anything, your appeal had only incensed him further. 

“The throne seats only one, Ardyn, do you know why?” he asked, narrowing his eyes. “It’s because only one of us is fit to rule.”

You didn’t want to argue that point. You had no desire to sit the throne, but you did wish to make yourself useful. 

“I cannot allow our people to turn on each other in their time of need,” you said, shaking your head. “The afflicted have no one to turn to, and it’s because of you that some have died in hiding before I ever reach them. They know what you’ll do. What others like you will do. The people will not respect you as a king, if this is the example you set, Somnus. They are _afraid_ of you.”

As Somnus seethed in front of you, you realized too late that he would take your words as a declaration of superiority. It was intended as a warning, but your tone was more forceful than you meant. 

The look in his eyes was almost worth it, if it didn’t frighten you to your core. Somnus thought of you as having unrealistic ideals, but he was impulsive himself. He made decisions swiftly, justly, but not without a note of cruelty. His solution would come at the cost of failing to see his subjects as equals. Perhaps, he really believed himself above them, just because your bloodline was beloved by the gods. It gave you the tools you needed to serve your people, but they were just that. People. Humans with lives, loved ones, and their own duties to perform. Somnus’s rule would devastate them, of that you had been certain.

“I offer that as advice,” you said, more quietly, letting your eyes fall away from him in a nonthreatening gesture. “Whichever of us is chosen… I hope that you will make the right decision. I mean that.”

Again, Somnus shook his head, disbelief evident on his face. “You believe that because you have this power to heal that you get to act as though you understand the will of the gods better than anyone else. You cannot pick favorites. What kind of man gets to choose who lives and who dies? That is no job for a mortal. No matter what you might fancy yourself, you are not above us.”

Is that what he thought of you?

It didn’t matter. The damage was done. There was a fury in his eyes you had never seen. A chill ran through you as you looked at him. These disagreements had become more frequent and varied in intensity, but you had talked yourself into a dangerous corner.

You had played together as children, but looking at him now you hardly recognized him. 

“I _cannot_ sit still and do nothing, knowing that I can help,” you said, a bitter sadness entering your voice. “Whether or not the gods meant for my gift to be used this way, I couldn’t bear it. If someone is grasping at the hem of my tunic and begging for my aid, I would be a monster to ignore them. I cannot stop.”

“Your guilty conscience is not a grounds to toy with people’s lives,” he spat, his right hand twitching. 

He was only millimeters from drawing his sword against you in anger. Words of spite bubbled to the forefront of your mind, despite this. You wished you could have stopped yourself, but the words were coming out before you realized it.

“If you _had_ a conscience, you would not raze entire villages to the ground knowing full well that I can heal the afflicted just as easily as you leave behind the corpses of your subjects.” 

The tension broke again, and before you could react, you found yourself shoved violently against one of the columns marking the wings of the training hall. There was a crack as your head was forced back against the stone, with the Yaksha blade at your throat. You stared, stunned, back into Somnus’s murderous eyes.

“I suggest you silence your tongue,” he said slowly, pressing the flat edge of the blade to your throat as he drew nearer. Rather than pierce your skin, he was pressing down harder, crushing your windpipe. “Before I cut it out.”

That was what he said, but as you gasped, the seconds seemed to drag on for ages. Your eyes squeezed shut, a stinging pain as the blade bit into your skin. Your ears were ringing, your throat burning, the darkness behind your eyelids flashed a thousand unnamed colors. Somnus seemed to relish in your pain, but you could not move, paralyzed with a genuine fear you had never before felt.

When at last it seemed you had expended your very last gasp of air, he released you. You fell to your knees with a cry, your legs giving out.

“This is the last I have to say on the matter,” he snarled, accompanied by the sound of his sword being magically dismissed. He stormed away from you.

Leaving you alone.

Oddly, tears pricked at your eyes. They might have been of pain, or frustration, you couldn’t tell, but they stubbornly rolled down your cheeks anyway. You clutched at your throat with your forehead pressed to the coarse stone floor beneath you and wept. 

You had fallen apart from each other long ago, you realized. You didn’t have a real desire to mend things with him, as tense as your relationship had become, but you wished it hadn’t come to this.

You wished that you weren’t going to have to hide the wound on your neck. By your judgement, you weren’t bleeding much, if at all, but the bruising would be ugly, and would last for longer than you cared for. You knew you would not admit what had happened, if someone should ask about it, except, perhaps, to Aera. It was ridiculous, to protect his reputation, but if Somnus was ultimately chosen, then you would have to respect that, as frustrated as you felt.

More than anything, it was clear that you were unwelcome here. No matter what happened, until a decision was reached, you could not remain in the palace.

A hand still resting on your neck as you tried to regain a comfortable breathing pattern, you sat up. Wherever you went, you had to make your escape quickly. It had never before crossed your mind that these disputes could cost you your life. Not until now.

You would escape in the night. Alone. What you needed for your journey, you would take what you could store in your armiger, and then flee to the stables. After that… well, without Somnus watching your every move, you could continue your work.

He may not have approved of your healings, but you did not need his permission. 

The only regret you had was that you must leave Aera behind. Not for any dramatic sacrifice, or because you felt you _must_ be alone, but… Even if it were not for her duty as Oracle, you could not ask her to uproot her life to go into hiding with you. That was a conversation you weren’t looking forward to, but she would understand.

Somnus made no secret of his disdain for you to others, and you could confide in her. If your life was in danger, she would be more likely to encourage you than to stop you.

Rising to your feet, you leaned heavily against the column, a painful cough rattling through your body.

* * *

You sucked in quietly through your teeth, looking around. The training hall of House Caelum’s palace was gone, and you were back in Verstael’s lab, resting on the comfortable mattress, still covered in those damned wires.

When you awoke in the windowless room, there was a dull pain in your leg, and you uncoiled from your sleeping position to soothe the ancient ache you felt. Once in a while, your left leg bothered you, for reasons unknown to you. Perhaps Ardyn had twisted his leg once when he was younger, and it had healed improperly. Whatever it was, at the moment, the pain was worse than the usual flare up.

The white noise machine still hissed softly in the background, but you regretted that there was no clock in the room. Probably to avoid adding stress to those being examined, but without any windows in the room, and without any other timepiece, not knowing how long you had slept didn’t make you more comfortable.

You didn’t wonder long, because a few moments later, there was a short knock on the door before it was thrown open.

Verstael let himself in, and pulling up a chair, he helped remove the wires from your body, unflinching even when you winced each time they were peeled away.

“You might have started with a ‘good morning,’” you mumbled.

Your neck was still burning, but the pain in your leg was an uncomfortable distraction from the phantom left behind by your dreams.

“I would, but it doesn’t appear you’re having one,” he said, tilting his head oddly. “How is your leg?”

Your expression twisted into a frown. “What…?”

A glance into Verstael’s eyes, the man looked uncharacteristically reluctant, and he motioned with his eyes towards your leg. “One of my assistants who observed you for a portion of the night came to investigate when you managed to remove one of the pulse monitors.”

That certainly didn’t make you feel any better. You pulled your left leg up from the floor to rest on the mattress, pulling up the leg of your trousers to pinpoint the source of the ache. “What happened?”

“Evidently, you startled her,” he said, shaking his head with a small shrug. “You summoned that sword of yours in your sleep, apparently, and… Well. She shot you in the leg. After that, we decided to let you sleep. It's been... Nearly ten hours now."

“Your assistant _shot_ me?” you asked, an unintentional edge entering your voice. "Without waking me?"

You might have been durable, but the _sound_ should have woken you. Perhaps if you had woken up, you had been too delirious to remember. 

“Well, you’re not hurt, are you?” he asked dryly. 

No, not visibly. There was no wound, or even a scar, and no damage to the mattress or any of the surrounding area. So then the pain…

“The bullet may still be lodged somewhere in your leg,” he said, watching you. "I can remove it.”

“I would like that,” you said, scowling. That explained the extra sharpness to the occasional ache. “Did you find anything else of interest?”

You removed from your armiger a change of clothes, and began pulling on your shirt. Verstael leaned back in his chair, glancing away after a few moments, his arms folded. 

“I would say so, yes,” he said. “How long have you been having vivid nightmares?”

A shrug as you put on your boots. “I think I’ve been having them for a long time now, but they haven’t been disturbing me until recently. It may have been the last… two months, I think, since they became so vivid.”

After a moment, you realized that Verstael was using the console to take notes. Probably filling out some kind of medical report.

“And what are these dreams normally like?” he asked, looking back at you from the screen. “At one point, the devices used to monitor your breathing, and the rise and fall of your chest… you simply stopped, more than once, for several minutes at a time.”

You winced, imagining something invisible constricting against your neck. A hand went delicately to the place where Somnus had strangled you. That explained a little bit. “Well, I am immortal…”

Verstael nodded. “Apart from giving my assistant a nice display of your Lucian magic, she claims you were speaking in tongues.”

You didn’t think much would shock you more than waking up and being informed you had been shot in the leg. “Plenty of people talk in their sleep. I would be more surprised if I had said anything coherent.”

He smiled, only somewhat smugly as he looked at you. “I am no linguist, but I listened to the audio playback from the time in question after I woke up. It wasn’t nonsense, it was structured. You were speaking another language. Not one that has survived to this day, but… I’m fairly certain it was an ancient dialect of Lucian.”

It shouldn’t have been that surprising, but a stunned expression showed on your face anyway. Ardyn lived over two thousand years ago, and language changed quickly. Saddled with his memories, his body, and some of his quirks… What language had he been speaking when arguing with Somnus? Not any modern language. In your dreams, it hadn’t occurred to you that it was odd, since you understood the language perfectly well. You frowned. 

“I’d love to know what it all means,” he said, unfolding his arms to rest his hands in his lap again. He saw you as an antiquity, no doubt, even if the idea of possessing a living piece of history intrigued him. “Would you like to hear the recording? Perhaps you can translate for me.”

You rubbed at your neck again with a frown. It would be harder to confront the contents of that audio, assuming you had said anything relevant. “Another time, perhaps.”

Finally, you rose to your feet, wrapping your coat around yourself comfortably and stretching out your achy leg. 

“Then perhaps you can enlighten me, as to the contents of your nightmares?” he asked, standing as well.

“I was arguing with my brother,” you said dryly. “I don’t know if you’ve guessed by now, but we weren’t on the best of terms.”

“Is that so,” he asked, rolling his eyes.

“I did warn you it was boring.” You turned your head back, glancing at him sideways. “These dreams are… usually my own memories, being played back to me. I was dreaming about a conversation that really happened, once. Then, he drew his sword against me, using it to strangle me until my lungs would burst."

You briefly wondered whose side he would take, if you thought he needed to know the details of your argument. You wondered if he would care at all for the conflict between you and Somnus.

“The Lucians call it The Blade of the Mystic,” he said, eyeing your hand clutching your neck. “I’ve read a bit about the Royal Arms. Of those that still exist, the Founder King’s is one of the more famous.”

“It… survived all this time?” you asked, tilting your head. The burning sensation didn’t leave. Somehow, that knowledge didn’t lessen your anger. 

You realized Verstael was smirking at you. You admitted that you spent a lot of time teasing him, but he was just egging you on. He loved to push you, and see what would happen. And this time you had accidentally taken the bait.

“Does it anger you to know that?” he asked, that irritating look still on his face as he studied you. “What would you say if I told you that his tomb was still standing to this day? It’s in Lucian territory still, but… What if I could take you to it?”

You knew of the royal tombs scattered across Lucis. They weren’t exactly popular tourist spots, but people visited them with a fair amount of frequency, either to pay respects or test their survival skills. You had never seen one yourself, but you had known people who had made the trek to a few of them, just for sport.They had been around for so long, though, you couldn't imagine that Somnus's was still standing after two millennia.

He definitely wanted a reaction. You didn’t mean to give him one, but you narrowed your eyes in spite of yourself.

“Why would I want to see his tomb? He is dead. I have no reason to reflect on his loss, after the hell he put me through,” you said, scowling. “I don’t feel like playing games to find out what it is you want. So why don’t you just tell me what it is, instead? Save both of us the headache?”

“I don’t need to tell you what to do with his sword, do I?” he said, still looking at you. He had stirred some bitter feelings in you, but he was savouring them. He wasn’t afraid. “If I take you to the royal tomb, you can claim it for yourself. Add it to your collection. One more thing of his that could have been yours, ripped away from his hands. How does that sound?”

You nearly retorted, but before you could speak you began to seriously consider it. What a novel idea. 

Perhaps these feelings didn’t come from you, or anything you could identify as yourself, but Verstael wasn’t wrong about the gratification it would bring you to possess Somnus’s sword. You could add it to your arsenal, you realized, a glorified trophy. 

But the trip would be a long one, if it was in Lucian territory, and somehow, you doubted that Verstael was much more welcome in the territory than you.

“...What do I have to do, to reach it?” you asked. “In case you’ve forgotten, I don’t have much agency outside of this facility. The Lucians will descend on us the second I cross the border.”

“Simple,” said Verstael, placing his hands on his hips with a grin. And his answer surprised you.

“You need diplomatic immunity.”


	12. M.E. 723-II-00

When Verstael suggested you use your unique position to creep your way into a position of political power, you looked at him like he had grown a second head. 

“I’m no politician,” you’d insisted, shaking your head. “I know nothing about the inner workings of the Imperial court.”

“You can change that easily,” said Verstael, still grinning. “And it wouldn't even need to be a position with any real responsibility. As long as your existence is publicly declared by Niflheim, the Lucians will not be able to go near you without causing an incident.”

“Do you have enough influence in court to give me a starting point?” you asked, making a pained expression.

Verstael sighed at that. “I am a scientist and a military man, the full extent of my reach has already been exercised in introducing you to the Emperor. Though I advise His Radiance on such matters, I can only offer you my support.”

Then how, exactly, did he expect you to position yourself? 

“You already have his attention, Izunia,” he said, grasping your upper arms encouragingly. "Use it to your advantage. It will take time, but all you need is a public ceremony. International recognition.”

"Oh, is that all?"

"You’d do well for yourself, if you knew how to make better use of your silver tongue," he had lamented, tilting his head. "Your foot is already in the door. We’ll think of something."

The thought had alarmed you at the time. You, a diplomat? You had attracted his attention by making a display of your daemonic abilities, but that would not appeal to the emperor _and_ his advisors. You would have to get through to him alone, since your power was to remain a secret.

But you continued whispering to Iedolas in the form of your own comments tucked away in the reports he had requested of Verstael. He could see the work you were doing. The Magitek Production Facility was completed, and the first clone to be used in these experiments proved to be a success. You did not care for the process involved, so you provided a sample of the scourge plasmodium to Verstael that he could cultivate without your assistance. Not only was this easier on your mind, but it was also an easier means of mass production that did not require you to be ever present once the process was perfected. This method would be a little more dangerous than the strain that was contained within your body, but the facility would be fully automated, and the plasmodium secured. Unless there was a serious amount of irresponsibility on multiple levels of security, there wouldn’t be an outbreak.

All of that information was provided in the reports. Which led to you being allowed to discuss other, classified matters directly with the Emperor. 

Perhaps a breakthrough on the subject of immortality was not so far away. Maybe all that was needed was one more examination of the plasmodium contained in your body. Maybe soon enough, his missing wife could be recovered and returned to him alive.

These were problems that would need to be solved at another time, and claims you were not proud of, but Verstael had been correct. You had a way of getting under his skin. You could be sociable. A surprising skill you had not fully realized on your own, despite your performance in your first official meeting with the emperor.

It had taken many, many correspondences. His council of advisors were not particularly fond of you. While they didn't know what you were or what you had done for Iedolas, they were largely suspicious of your appearance in court. Perhaps it was the fact that you were never fully clean-shaven. Or perhaps, they didn't like the knowing look shared between yourself and the Emperor. You had to appeal to all of them, but the final decision lay with him. 

You had received a letter with the news within a week of the hearing.

A private reception. No big public event, but there was a short televised appearance, with your name displayed across a prominent news headline during a peak viewing hour. Your name and face was in the papers in the days leading up to the event, while you started to gain some recognition.

Ardyn Izunia: New Chancellor of Niflheim.

The role had been invented especially for you. As talks went on of your appointment, you had only been eyeing a small position that gave you some excuse to travel. To be honest, with the status you had been granted, you were not sure you would be able to move so freely. Finding such an abrupt position in the court, you might raise some eyebrows if you wandered into Lucian territory without reason.

Again, problems for a later time.

The most important thing on your mind was the privately held reception in your honor. Verstael, while nearly as antisocial as they came, could conduct himself well in a social setting. With just a bit of direction from him, you had eased your way through the news segment. A handsome smile, one hand delicately curled around a flute of champagne, you gave a short word to the camera. That ought to have done it. You had even combed your hair for the occasion.

Verstael accompanied you for the evening, never far from your sight as you spoke cordially to the council members who had only recently openly opposed your appointment to _any_ position. They had ceased their complaints when he proposed to invent a position in which you had no real authority. That suited you just fine.

Ardyn had no desire to rule in life, and in his absence, you couldn't be asked to care less about courtly duties beyond the odd public appearance or ribbon-cutting. 

Especially knowing that if you didn’t retain some amount of privacy, people would eventually begin to question why you never seemed to appear any older. You wondered how long that would take to notice.

It seemed like a silly amount of effort in retrospect, for one sword, to spite a man you had never known, but it filled you with a smug satisfaction that at last it was almost within your grasp.

The party, unbeknownst to all except you, coincided roughly with another event. 

You had pulled yourself away from working the crowd just for a break. Brown nosing a room full of politicians was hard work. To fully enjoy your reprieve, you had taken on another disguise, a plain, but well-dressed man with an unremarkable face.

You attracted Verstael's attention by approaching him as he perused the event's spread laid out beside the bar. He jumped, at first, when you touched his arm, then pressed your finger to your lips, but then recognition entered his eyes. 

“Has it been a full year now, since you were recovered from Angelgard?” asked Verstael, casually helping himself to some hors d'oeuvres.

A full year, trapped in this body. What were thirty-four more? 

You offered a grim smile. “Somewhere thereabouts. Feeling sentimental?

“Hardly. Just basking in the shadow of the limelight,” he answered, looking surprisingly content for a man so high strung.

“I can see that. Are you enjoying the party, then?”

Verstael rolled his eyes as he ordered drinks for the two of you. “I don’t think I could have made it any more clear that I abhor these kinds of gatherings. There comes a point where it isn’t about the activity, but the company you keep.”

You glanced down at him through the corner of your eye. “Your only interest is in your work, not in good company. You’ve only come to observe me.”

He grunted in acknowledgement as he took a slow sip from the glass offered to him by the bartender, passing the second glass into your hands. 

“Never change, Besithia,” you murmured, snorting quietly. “I have to admit, I find more comfort in familiar faces. I’m really not looking forward to having future dealings with any of these people.”

“I suppose you should have thought about that beforehand, Chancellor,” he said, smug. 

You hummed quietly. Being given a salary meant that you could afford to rent a nice apartment in the city, instead of living out of the lab, eventually. You expected you would probably spend your salary on little else. While it wasn’t something you wanted to get used to, having very few physical needs was cost efficient. 

Verstael had been your source of transportation the entire duration of your time there, too. That would probably have to change in the near future, before you went apartment hunting. He had been your ride that evening as well, so you weren’t going anywhere without him.

“How soon do you want to start arranging our trip?” asked Verstael.

“Oh, you were serious?” you asked, peering into your glass with a lazy smile. “I didn’t realize you were still on about that.”

“Please, you wouldn’t be here if not for how badly it pains you not to possess the sword,” he scoffed, his expression souring slightly. “Your condition has made you a patient man, but not one to relent without receiving gratification.”

You nodded your head in admission, amused. It wasn’t as though your every thought was consumed by it, but he wasn’t wrong. It wasn’t even entirely clear to you _why_ you wanted the Yaksha blade, but after putting in all the work, you weren’t going to let it slip away. 

"As soon as possible," you answered finally. "I would be prepared to leave tonight, if I weren't otherwise engaged." 

"Yes, it wouldn't look very good if you abandoned the celebration in your honor," he said. “Pity.”

“You can last a few more hours. I think the guests are beginning to notice my absence,” you murmured. Not far from you, a couple of heads had started to turn, searching the crowd for someone. “Unfortunately, I think there may be a few more boots left in this room I have yet to lick.”

You pushed yourself away from the space against the wall where you had been leaning, inching closer to the group.

“Let me know when you’re finished,” said Verstael, making a display of appearing disinterested in following. “I wouldn’t want to interrupt… that.”

“I will give you a shout when I need rescuing,” you said, throwing your arms apart as you backed away towards the crowd, carefully to avoid spilling your champagne. You dropped your disguise effortlessly, unnoticed.

Your gift had gotten you in a little deeper than you anticipated. Verstael might have laughed if he wasn’t stuck with you until the party ended, which couldn’t come soon enough. You thrived off of the energy of the crowd, but it was all too shallow. Those wishing to make nice were hardly ever genuine, but to be fair, you were playing the same game as them. You weren’t exactly being inconspicuous about it, but that was what the court was. It was all an act.

If you wanted to get one step closer to your old life, you were going to have to play the hand you were dealt. It was becoming easier. After all, it had been a little more than a year now, and you were adjusting finally, but you still felt removed from the situation. Nothing quite felt real. Least of all, finding a position in the Imperial court. Whether or not your job gave you any real power, you could honestly say this was not a career move you had in mind.

Then again, it wasn't your name, your face that had so many eyes on you. That was all Ardyn, whoever he really was.

You turned to face the crowd again, a pleasant smile as you faded back into the group. 

Faces from across the continents were present, some you recognized from recent news and briefings, others you did not. A print editor from some news press you had never heard of was among them, taking photos. Their manners were atrocious, and you were almost certain they had only come to help themselves generously to the spread. They were the only member of the press present. Probably for good reason. 

"Just enjoying the refreshments," you apologized neatly, showing them your glass with a smile. 

"Try not to enjoy yourself too much, Mr. Izunia," said one of the Imperial councilors, with a hollow laugh.

"Oh, you needn't worry about that, I've certainly learned my lesson by now," you joked along with them, though the familiarity of the address made you cringe. 

Overall, all of the jokes made during these niceties were stale, to an extent that almost embarrassed you to witness. It was unclear how many of them actually thought they were being clever, and how many were only speaking because it was expected. It couldn’t be helped.

“Some of us were taught early on in life, rather than learning the hard way,” said one woman, a Lucian diplomat, Mirjam Vega, whom you recognized from a briefing.

She had greeted you cordially, but her smile didn't meet her eyes. This woman did not care for you. That fact amused you more than annoyed. Everyone else was going along with your lead, but she wasn’t bothering to hide her true feelings, no matter what she said.

"Ah, well. You might blame my upbringing, in that case," you said, a small snort. "I wouldn’t dream of using my background as an excuse for my past mistakes, but it’s difficult to climb the social ladder with a spotless record when you come from nothing. I admit I could learn much from watching someone like you. But really, we’ve all been young, haven’t we?"

She did not appear anymore impressed, but she stopped her assault when the others humored you with a laugh. Really, you didn’t think you were being very funny, but you might have felt a little satisfaction from it.

She was here as a diplomat, as Mors Lucis Caelum had declined to attend, but likely did not wish to snub Niflheim entirely. Lucis clearly wanted nothing to do with your appointment, and neither did their diplomat. She was being polite, but hardly because she wanted to be. The kingdom had deemed the situation between the two nations tenuous enough that to outright refuse attendance would cause too much of an upset. That was a good sign.  
  
The fact that the king could potentially have made an appearance at all was a strange thought. The man had been dead before you were born, and Ardyn was never meant to live to see a time when the 112th king of Lucis was alive. Neither of you had been meant to exist at the same time as him but somehow you had converged on one strange line. 

Around you were dignitaries from other lands, mainly those occupied by Niflheim and therefore obligated to attend, but they didn't show their true thoughts on the matter. Likely, they were used to sucking up to Imperials at events. The Lucians were not, so you would have to bridge that gap yourself. 

“How is Lucis this time of year, Ms. Vega?” you asked, tilting your head to the side at her. Engage with her. Worm your way in. Try not to antagonize her too much. “With spring on its way, tourism to the Crown City must be picking up, am I correct?”

Mirjam pressed her lips into a thin line. “Yes, it’s just beginning to warm up, so people are starting to venture back out into the streets. There are a lot of people coming in from outside Insomnia as well. Later this month, the Crown City is holding our annual Founders Day Festival. It always attracts crowds from all over Eos, despite being mainly a very local celebration, as it’s also the time when most of the city’s flowering trees begin to bloom.”

You hummed, sipping your champagne quietly as you listened, ignoring the twinge of irritation in the back of your mind. “Yes, I’ve heard. I can’t say I’ve ever had the pleasure of seeing very much of Lucis myself, but I'd love to visit someday.”

“I’m sure that can be arranged, Chancellor,” she said, narrowing her eyes.

You were expected to play nice with the other distinguished guests, but there was a good chance that any gesture from any member of Niflheim’s government would seem immediately suspicious. Though, it was more likely she thought you were speaking as a representative of the Empire rather than trying to cross the border.

“Perhaps,” you said, nodding. “Ah, but don’t misunderstand my interest as seeking preferential treatment. I am a simple man, Ms. Vega, I haven’t forgotten how to travel as the common folk do.”

Nevermind that you couldn’t legally operate a vehicle. Nevermind that your clothes probably cost more money than you currently had on your person. You were going to stick with that angle until it no longer became advantageous or until someone finally called you out.

“But there are far more sights to see in Lucis than just the Crown City,” you said, shaking your head with a smile. “There are so many historic sites, so many natural wonders within your wall. The Disc of Cauthess, the Royal tombs… It’s no wonder it’s so popular with outdoors enthusiasts.” 

She seemed to be calculating something, studying your expression, but there was no give.

“If you want a real spectacle, you should visit Altissia during next year’s Moogle Chocobo Carnival,” said the dignitary from Accordo. “The fireworks display this year was the best one yet. Next year’s budget will set aside even more for the display, so you can expect great things.”

There was something you did miss, even though you were literally being invited to visit that moment. The festival really was almost entirely a tourist trap, but you had a lot of memories of attending since you were little. The food, the music… The festival lasted several days and nights, but you really only stayed for the day. Being offered a visit was tempting, especially knowing that your status could afford you a stay in the Leville, which was always jam-packed, but especially during festival season. People’s stays were booked so far in advance, you needed a miracle to get in. On top of that, you were a local, so you really had never had any reason to stay in a hotel, much less one so expensive, but…

“That sounds wonderful,” you said, nodding. “I must have just missed it, too. You’ll have to remind me when it rolls around again.”

As if Accordo wanted to invite any Imperial presence to their capital. 

You finished off the last of your drink, glancing back to Mirjam, who was still studying you. Hadn’t you had enough of that already?

“Actually, Chancellor, how would you be interested in a little extra publicity?” asked Mirjam, tilting her head sideways at you. Her expression was largely unchanged, but she seemed to have decided you were useful, somehow. “I’m sure I don’t need to inform you of the tensions between our two nations. Neither of us can do anything about that situation, but I am actually looking for an opportunity to calm the people’s nerves.”

You blinked, raising your eyebrows at her. “Publicity? What exactly is on your mind?" 

Mirjam turned her head sharply, looking behind her for someone, then snapped her fingers. “Raix, look alive.”

The journalist lifted their head, apparently preoccupied. They nudged their way past a small group of people to the crowd around you, clutching a camera in one hand and a plate with a colorful array from the spread table in the other.

“This is Raix, from a regional paper in Lucis,” she started, gesturing to them.

You offered your hand to Raix, who only waved with their camera hand. They _were_ technically supposed to be working, but you thought the avoidance of the gesture might have been deliberate. Fair enough. You retracted your hand.

“What would you have me do?”

They waggled the camera at you again, this time not in greeting, but as a reminder. “I just need a few pictures. The paper doesn't have much reach outside of Lucis, but I can sell the licenses to Niff publications too."

“It would look good if you were to take an interest in the local monuments you were prattling on about a few moments ago," said Mirjam. The corners of her mouth twitched into a smirk. "So why don't you put your money where your mouth is."

"All you have to do is pose for a photo op," said Raix. "You can even pick the place yourself."

You smiled as sincerely as you could muster without grinning too widely. "I think I can arrange something. Do you have a business card? I can contact you in the morning."

You turned slowly as the press badge began to fish something out of their pocket, locking eyes with Verstael across the room. Of course, he had no idea why you were looking at him and merely stared back, but that didn’t deter your feelings of elation.

It appeared that while the Lucian diplomat did not want to suffer your company, she would open the gates for you anyway. 

You wondered if the payoff was even going to be worth the effort, but it was so close. 

Someone's hand waved in front of your eyes, and you refocused your attention on the journalist's hand, poised carefully so that you would only take the card. Evidently they had been holding it a moment too long, and you hadn't been paying attention.

You took the card carefully between your forefinger and thumb, giving a polite nod.

"Raix Incautum," you read aloud, before tucking the card into your cost pocket. "Yes, I'll be certain to get in touch." 

"Got anywhere in mind?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's kinda dull but I didn't think I could get away with ignoring this whole situation so here it is oops.
> 
> OH ALSO, i edited the chapters to have approximate dates, I was just gonna write the dates out normally before remembering there actually is a dating system in game already!! The 00s means that the date isn't really specified because I'm lazy, but using x's looked like hell next to Roman numerals, so I don't know if the game actually has a placeholder for an unspecified point in time because I didn't look that closely, btu this is what I'm doing. 
> 
> But yeah it's just because I realized that... however long this goes on for, time stuff is gonna get dicey if I don't start labeling and keeping a timeline, so I'm doing that now.


	13. M.E. 723-III-15th

The purpose of your trip to Lucis was twofold: one, the one that was on paper, taking photos of your visit for various publications. You couldn’t care less about that. You knew more than enough about the dealings between the two nations that this stunt would mean absolutely nothing. 

Presently, though the state of the world was tense, there was no active combat between Lucis and Niflheim. That would change in the foreseeable future. Whether or not you wished it, and there was a despicable part of you that did, Lucis had a reckoning coming. How could a posed photo of a Niff diplomat ease the fears of the average Lucian, when the empire was rumored to be amassing some kind of army? 

The other reason, and the main thing keeping you from dwelling on the former for too long, was top secret. 

Aside from Zegnautus, you had never been in an Imperial airship before. The idea of flying, even if it was just to the border, was completely foreign to you. As you approached the landing pad, securing your hat with one hand, you heard Verstael chuckle.

“I imagine this must be a little overwhelming for you,” he said, approaching behind you. “I’m sure you must have some memories rattling around in that head of yours of our machines, but this must be the first time you’ve ever been in one yourself, isn’t it?”

The condescending note to his question irked you just a little, but you were used to his way of questioning by now. There were far more people in the world, even in Niflheim, who had never even been this close to a ship than those who had set foot in one.

“I don’t think my circumstances are any more outstanding than the rest of Eos in that respect,” you said, pursing your lips. “But, if you wish to make a note, I will admit that I am a bit impressed. You are still logging your findings about me, yes? That is the purpose of you accompanying me?”

“The _purpose,_ as you well know, is that you cannot travel with a full military entourage. While I am technically still a soldier, it will just be me and two others for security. And _you_ don’t know how to drive. So that job will be falling to me,” he answered.

Verstael had cleaned up pretty well, you supposed, looking at him. He basically lived in his uniform, for how intimidating of a figure he could cut in it, except when he was doing really serious work. But for this excursion, he had delved into his wardrobe exactly to avoid appearing intimidating. His name was not unknown, but he hardly needed to arrive in Lucian territory prepped for deployment, a decorated and high-ranking official. That alone could be considered an act of aggression.

You continued on, standing by the open door, one hand on your chin as you studied the inside of the ship. The two guards stationed beside it stood motionless, paying you no mind, the way you liked it.

“You don’t know everything about me, you know,” you said, finally boarding the ship when Verstael urged you on with a wave of his hand. “If you actually put me behind a wheel, it would be a different story.”

He rolled his eyes. “I don’t think Vehicle Registration will accept inherited memory as a substitute for a practical exam. I can have identification documents forged for you, but I can’t get you out of that.”

That wasn’t the reason you felt confident you could at least operate a car, but you let him have it. Not that he needed the ego boost. 

You passed the secured rental car as you entered the hold of the ship, trailing your hand on it briefly. 

The car was different from the style of vehicles you were used to where you had come from. It was a little boxier, more vintage, but that was normal for the current year, you had noted. A convertible, in a unique shade of cranberry, with a daring cream colored streak. The rental company you got it from had a lot of custom jobs, specializing mainly in statement pieces for… pretty much exactly what you were using it for now. A newly-minted politician making a grand appearance. 

Verstael had remarked with disgust that the color matched your hair, and that had inspired you to choose it out of spite alone.

From Verstael’s lab to the Lucian border, the trip was much shorter than you expected, and certainly more bearable than if you had taken a car the entire way. Two ships, two cars, one aboard each. At the border, you would make the rest of the journey in the rental car, and all but two of the troops would return to base until you were ready to make the trip back. 

That provided an interesting experience from that point on. There would be a few stops on the way, certainly, on the road to Lestallum, where you would meet Raix, but camping out in between stops when there would be no hotels or rest stops? There would only be one such stop before reaching the tomb in Duscae, but that was another first for you. You didn’t have any starry-eyed romanticizations about sleeping under the stars, but the idea was appealing to you.

At first, anyway. Before your long road trip had you actually stop for the night at a haven, the last overnight stop before hitting Lestallum.

“I know that camping is a popular pastime in Lucis, but… I can’t imagine it myself,” you murmured, watching from the car as the two guards you brought along with you set up your tents on the obviously man-made plateau. “Daemons are a problem, aren’t they?”

Verstael merely shrugged. “I have never put much thought into it myself, but… I have made use of these havens once or twice in the field of battle, when it was convenient to do so. The story goes that the havens are protected by the magic of the current Oracle.”

The Oracle of any given generation, currently Sylva Via Fleuret. You knew that, but were unimpressed with yourself for the way you felt your mind linger sadly at the mention of the role anyway. “...Sort of like the Lucians’ wall?” 

“That’s what people believe,” he said, shrugging. “But I happen to know that there’s a particular family somewhere in Lucis that has kept up the maintenance over the years as something of a tradition. It’s not magic. Not the kind you’re acquainted with, anyway.”

Verstael pointed out the window, to the smouldering fire. “Look at the way the fire burns. A flame can change color based on the properties of the burning substance, and that flame is unique to the havens scattered across Eos. I can’t say for certain what it is, as I’ve yet to find a cocktail that repulses daemons as thoroughly as simply shining a light on them, but you might think of it as… burning a certain scent of candle to keep away insects.”

“You don’t expect we’ll see any tonight, then? Daemons?"

He rolled his neck to look at you dryly, resting one hand on the wheel. “With you here? No, I highly doubt it. Lesser daemons tend to avoid more powerful creatures.”

You grimaced at that, but conceded. It still wasn’t easy to consider that you may be anything other than human, but he was correct enough. Daemons generally ignored you, or avoided you outright. Others still, you could command, to a degree. 

You wrenched yourself away from the threat of an existential crisis and stepped out of the passenger side door.

Once both tents were pitched, you peered up at the handiwork of the two soldiers. You began to make your way over to the haven.

The sun was setting, but you weren’t sure you felt like turning in just yet. If you ever did sleep, it would take some time before you felt very comfortable. You had been avoiding it, not wanting your nightmares to turn violent, but there would be bigger things to worry about if your restlessness kept Verstael awake. 

Still, there was an inviting, blue-tinged fire roaring, and a table set up nearby. You might just sit there all evening, relaxing as much as you could allow yourself. 

You stepped up the curving ramp to the plateau, Verstael only a couple of meters behind you. 

The moment you crossed the line, you started to feel odd. At first, it was an uncomfortable tingling. It quickly grew into a spiking pain that ripped its way throughout your body, as if your body had ignited suddenly. It was not incomparable to the way the sun burned, but the last of its rays were slipping away already, and this was far more concentrated. Your knees started to buckle, your bad leg flaring up hideously. An unidentifiable blue light seemed to grow brighter as your vision swam, stopping you in your tracks altogether.

You managed to stay standing, but you couldn’t stifle the bestial hiss that escaped your lips when you were yanked roughly backwards by the back of your coat without warning.

Ungracefully, you stumbled backwards, falling onto your rear in the dirt.

But oddly enough, the pain stopped once you were no longer inside the boundary of the haven. The swirling runes died to a cool hued ember.

Your eyes watered as you looked up at Verstael standing over you, his blurry expression only looking intrigued rather than surprised, to your annoyance. You bared your teeth at him, tempted to snatch his ankle out from under him and pull him down with you, but you resisted.

“Cover your face,” he muttered to you, a warning. You realized as you pulled your hand away from your eyes that you were leaking that strange scourgey ichor again. 

Your breath was slightly ragged, and you shook your head at him. _“Not much I can do about it at the moment.”_

Taking a deep breath, you tried to will it away at any rate, forcing your appearance to return to normal. As you got to your feet shakily, you leaned away from your left leg to stand. Both actions were slow going and took more effort than you wanted to admit.

“A candle, to keep away insects?” you asked, standing entirely too close to him to whisper angrily. “Did you know this would happen?”

“I had a suspicion,” he admitted. “And anyway, you are far more than a mere insect. I’ve seen what happens to daemons that get too close to havens before, but… I wasn’t even sure that it would disrupt you at all.”

Dusting yourself off, you continued to scowl at him, still close enough to make anyone else uncomfortable. He didn’t even flinch.

“Then I suppose I’ll wait until morning in the car,” you announced, turning sharply on your heel. 

“Isn’t it better to discover this now than when meeting with that journalist?” asked Verstael, taking a couple of steps after you to remain in earshot. 

“The next time you want me to sate your curiosity, I would prefer you asked first,” you growled in response, walking away from him.

He had a point, but it still angered you. You were just lucky that the majority of human troops from Verstael’s facility had at _least_ an inkling that there was something wrong with you already, or you might have had to dispose of them, at the risk of Verstael taking it upon himself.

You slammed the car door shut after settling in, but as you lowered your seat into a reclining position and folded your hands comfortably over your middle, you realized there was still a worse alternative.

He was right. If something went wrong with Incautum, your hands would be tied. Their job and how public this meeting was meant they were as untouchable as you, in this situation. That was a relief, admittedly, even though you would have to be extra careful not to get caught doing something odd.

Still, it was how Verstael handled the situation that soured your mood. More specifically, the way he had handled _you._ He had probably done you a favor, but the act of being shoved to the ground after walking directly into an oversized bug zapper was alarming at the very least. 

“I don’t like how bold he’s gotten so quickly,” you muttered, readjusting to put your hat over your face. “Nothing frightens him anymore.”

If he had only informed you first, you probably would have walked into the oversized bug zapper at his request anyway. 

Why the secrecy, unless it just amused him? That was probably the case, even though he hadn't shown it on his expression. 

The man was normally pretty easy to read, but he did regularly lie through his teeth for a living, so who could really say?

So you sat there until the dawn came again, only stirring at some point to raise the top of the convertible when the sun started to peek over the distant horizon.

When you heard the others beginning to move around outside, exchanging passing words to each other, you still didn’t move. Not until everything was packed once again and Verstael came around to the car at last.

He lifted the brim of your hat from your face, tilting his head to get a good look at you when you opened your eyes. 

“All ready?” you asked, pulling the hat away from him and back over your eyes before folding your arms again.

“Have you been sulking here all night?” he asked. You heard him walk away, back around the front of the car to the driver’s side.

“Call it what you will,” you sighed once the door was opened. You removed your hat, flicking your wrist and dismissing it to your armiger, then set your seat back into an upright position. 

The remainder of the trip to Lestallum went off without a hitch, from your arrival in town to your arrival at the town’s Leville. The two guards were left behind outside as you entered the building. 

Verstael scanned the area of the lobby with his eyes, narrow and judgemental. First and foremost, he was a scientist, but military science still had the word ‘military’ in it. It hadn’t surprised you to learn that he had a history in active duty, considering that he didn’t shy away from field work despite his status. His interest in helping the empire gain control over Lucis was more than just performative, and unsurprisingly, he wasn’t exactly forthcoming with tolerance for the Lucian people either. You would have loved to know what was going on in his funny little head as he looked around with a critical eye, if you didn’t fear that the knowledge would only prove to be poisonous to your mind.

Your arrival had earned a few odd looks, but whether it was your face in the papers or the security detail, you weren’t sure. Probably the latter. Perhaps he was expecting something to go wrong. He didn’t exactly lack confidence, but this was enemy territory. It would have been more unusual if he _wasn’t_ suspicious of everyone who passed.

Finally, you spotted Raix.

They were seated in a large chair in the lobby, idly reading a magazine while sipping from a juice pouch. There was a duffle bag at their feet, presumably containing some necessities, and a smaller bag for their camera equipment. 

As soon as they saw you approach, they lifted their head, rising to their feet. 

This time, you didn’t bother offering your hand, instead nodding to them politely. Somehow, it seemed like they were taller than before, and glancing down for a split second you noted the heavy boots they wore that gave them an extra inch over Verstael. The boots didn’t look very comfortable, but somehow Raix appeared much more comfortable than they had at the event in your honor nearly a month ago. Were they going to walk in the dirt in those? You decided to keep your comments to yourself.

“Raix Incautum,” you greeted. “I’m glad to see you well.”

“Chancellor,” they said, their eyes shifting to Verstael. “Who’s this with you?”

Charmless, as expected, but that fact was refreshing in its own way. You smiled anyway. 

“This is my colleague, Verstael Besithia,” you said, gesturing to him. “There is a prestigious title attached to the name, but for today, you can think of him as a handler of sorts. I hope you don’t mind that I’ve brought a small security detail with me, it’s just a formality.”

You watched as Verstael’s eyes focused, settling on Raix when they spoke, then the way his brow knitted together, lips curling at your lacklustre introduction, as if he were about to interject.

 _“Chief_ Verstael Besithia?” asked Raix, eyes widening only slightly. “What’s someone so important doing away from Niflheim?” 

The response seemed to pacify Verstael, who promptly closed his mouth to turn his attention back to them. 

“The answer is far less interesting than you would imagine,” he answered, hackles lowering surprisingly quickly. “As he said. I’m doing the work of someone far below my station.”

He made a show of complaining, but steps were being taken within the empire’s military hierarchy for him to step down from his current position. Soon enough, within the next year or so, he was expected to make the transition from field work to dedicating the foreseeable future to full time lab work at the new facility. Dedicated as he was, even he would miss the mobility his position afforded him.

It sounded an awful lot like a death sentence to you, but you weren’t the one being confined.

Raix’s expression looked slightly dubious at his unnecessarily harsh response. “Um… no, I don’t mind the company. How many did you bring, just for reference? If we’re making camp out there, then we’ll need to make sure there’s enough room.”

Did they expect an entire fleet to accompany you? As smoothly as the beginning of this production of magitek troopers was going, it was difficult to blame them. For the moment, the production was secret, but understandably, Niflheim remained the kingdom’s personal boogeyman. 

“There are only two others,” you said, reassuringly. “It’s a silly formality. I would travel alone, if I could.”

Verstael scoffed at that, but kept his remark to himself. It wasn’t difficult to imagine that it was the ‘if I could’ he was hung up on. After this excursion, you would work on obtaining a license, if only to remove one more advantage he had to hold over you.

The journalist leaned down to pick up their bag, slinging it across their shoulders. “Should be alright, I think. I spent some time getting directions from local hikers, so. I can navigate. I’m guessing neither of you know your way around here, right?”

That was how you ended up in the back of your own rental car, with Raix helping Verstael navigate. Neither of you bothered to tell them that Verstael did have some experience with the tombs, however minimal it might have been. That would be too close to admitting that he had entered the country under illicit pretenses before, nevermind that he had robbed the tomb. 

Truth be told, it had seemed unlikely that it was in good taste to take photos anywhere near the royal tomb, but when you suggested it, Raix had been completely on board. It was an important cornerstone of Lucian history, after all. Supposedly, you were there to honor that history. 

The drive between the two points on the map Raix had shown you seemed innocent enough, but it was a long drive. Definitely enough to excuse the night’s stay you were about to endure. You probably could have made a case to return to Lestallum, and you didn’t plan to stay long in town the following day, but you needed the cover of night.

Away from prying eyes, you would claim Somnus's sword for your own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I ended up writing a lot at once so I'll probably have the next chapter up in the next couple of days, but I had fun with this one :) I'm really taking a lot of liberties but... it doesn't really matter in the long run lol
> 
> Raix belongs to [vanitasunverse!](https://archiveofourown.org/users/vanitasunverse/) Thank you for letting me borrow them!!


	14. M.E. 723-III-16th

The magic of the Lucian royal family was still a mystery, and likely the source of a lot of your current problems. Despite that, it was intuitive. It seemed to know what to do without much coaxing from you.

You had learned to access the armiger quickly, and by accident. Other abilities, you couldn’t quite place if they were due to the magic or the scourge, but they came to you, if slowly. Not fully understanding how any of it worked, just how to make things happen, you thought you had better stay away from the tomb until you came back in the night.

You expected Raix to use the remainder of the sun’s golden light to take a few shots of you posed in front of the tomb.

Instead, after the short hike to the Disc, you discovered that the tomb itself was no more. The sarcophagus lay disheveled in the open, the stone blanched and worn even from a distance. The crater had been there long before Ardyn's time, but it was Somnus’s own fault for having his tomb built somewhere so unstable, prone to the occasional earthquake. The lack of foresight was astounding, but you had to admit that it was remarkably intact despite the slightly less than two millennia it had lain there. 

From what you could see, anyway, since you didn’t dare go near it.

You suggested, then, taking a photo of the crater itself. It was easy to cite respect as the reason for not wanting to take the photo in front of the sarcophagus. The actual article would reflect that you had visited the tomb anyway, Raix had said. In any event, you posed for a number of photos, for the sake of variety. 

Raix went ahead to take a few shots of the tomb alone, even though the sun was setting. 

“You’ve come all this way to see the royal tomb, but you can’t even bring yourself to look at it. Why is that?” asked Verstael, waiting with you in the car.

The rest stop wasn’t far, so your detail had gone ahead to make camp already. 

“It’s far easier to explain why I won’t set foot in the haven,” you mumbled, leaning against your arm, propped up by the car door. “After all, I asked to be taken out here, yet I can’t bring myself to see it. That must raise some eyebrows.”

Confronting any part of Ardyn's past was confusing and miserable. There were too many things you shouldn't have known, shouldn't have felt. This conflict wasn't yours, but you saw it through your own eyes. It shouldn't have mattered to you, you should have been detached and irritated with your situation. Instead, you felt you were steeping too long in it, when you first realized you were taking things too personally. The knowledge didn't keep you from feeling, however. Mostly you felt hollow.

"Don’t tell me you’re feeling remorse for the man who left you for dead while he and his bloodline thrived,” said Verstael, sneering.

“You might think so, but it definitely isn’t remorse that I feel,” you muttered, drumming your fingers. There was a nauseatingly bitter taste in your mouth. “My emotions are a little unpredictable, when it comes to… this. I worry what will happen if I have a witness."

"You mean our guest," he said. There was an unspoken insistence that he be a witness to your reunion. 

"I would appreciate a keen eye," you admitted, acknowledging him quietly. "Hearing your observations, even in a clinical setting… sort of helps me process all of this. Piece by piece, I understand a little more."

Verstael nodded just a bit. “Mm. I suppose you would need more than a year to recover from your lost time. You acclimated more quickly than I anticipated, thanks to your gifts, but you once brokered a deal with me. You allowed me to study you, on the pretense that I share the results with you. It always seems there’s still much we don’t know.”

“Agreed, but it’s only the physical aspect that interests you,” you said, glancing at him. He probably wished you were the monster he hoped to find, but despite what you’d been put through in just a year, you were still confused. “You want to know what I can do; I want to know why I have this power. The emperor wants my secret of immortality, but I’d settle just to know why I always come back. I don’t think that can be measured.”

Verstael tilted his head, about to speak, but as you looked up, you saw Raix trekking back up the hill already. It hadn’t seemed like they would stay for very long, so you weren’t especially surprised to see them, even though their dark clothing threatened to be enveloped in the purplish shadows looming across the landscape.

“They’re back,” you murmured, when Verstael didn’t seem to be fazed at all, despite their appearance. They were too far out of earshot to hear, but he would have to wait.

For some reason, he paused. He was looking into the shadows too, but his eyes never fully settled. You frowned slightly as he looked for anything in the distance that seemed to be moving.

“You can see them?” he asked, lowering his voice.

Glancing back at the steadily approaching figure, you folded your arms. “Can’t you?”

He shook his head. “Not in this light. What else do you see?”

It was getting dark, you could see that, but beyond that, what was he expecting?

You pressed your lips together tightly. “I don’t… There isn’t much around, what do you want?”

“Rock formations? Foliage? Landmarks?” he urged. 

“I can see the shapes easily and make out most details from a distance,” you started, somewhat reluctantly. You weren’t at all surprised by this realization, but wondered how it could have escaped your notice. There had been few opportunities to compare what you saw like this, and you had never noticed on your own. “Raix is carrying a reusable water bottle in one hand and clutching their bag over their shoulder with the other. I can see the discs, but I’m sure you can make out the outline yourself. Is that what you want to hear?”

“I never did think to test your vision in low light,” he mumbled, thinking. “I’ll make a note of that. It will come in handy when we come back here later.”

You only hummed in response, because Raix was bordering on being close enough to make out the content of your conversation, if they were even listening. Verstael turned the headlights of the car on, and you watched Raix recoil slightly from the sudden brightness. You wondered if the headlights from the car would irritate you the way they were meant to ward off other daemons.

“It seems time must have gotten away from you,” you greeted them as they let themself into the back seat of the car. “Did you have any luck?”

“I took a few photos of the overlook, and a couple of the tomb itself,” said Raix, nodding as they buckled in. “I’ll have to wait to see how they develop, but I think that covers everything.” 

Making use of the nearest rest stop wasn’t even an option, with how many people you had in your company. You made a big display of being exhausted, despite that the sun had only just gone down, despite doing almost nothing, and remained in the car. 

And then it was time to play the waiting game.

You wondered what Verstael was doing in the meantime. If it had been an option, you probably wouldn’t have had any qualms with letting him sleep until you were certain the journalist was out, then waking him yourself. Instead you had to trust that Verstael would pull through.

When the time finally rolled around, after midnight, Verstael emerged from his tent.

The car wasn’t all that close to the haven, so there wasn’t much worry about, as far as the engine noise went. Not that the engine was very loud at all. 

“Can you find your way well enough in the dark?” you asked. 

“I remember where it is,” he answered, once you were back on the road. He pulled a U-turn to go back, driving towards the crater.

There was no moon in the sky, just barely covered by passing clouds, but finding the path was easy enough. The dirt was a milky white that made it easy to cross, even for Verstael, whose eyes were evidently not as well attuned as yours to the dark. 

Verstael followed behind you, letting you walk with surprising confidence to where the dirt gave way to ancient stone.

"I have heard claims that the scourge that ravages your body may have originated from the meteor that fell here eons ago," he was saying, though you were already tuning him out. "Based on my research, however, those claims are unsubstantiated, so I dismissed them long ago. Possibly a mistranslation of an old, local myth."

You were vaguely aware of what he was saying, but your eyes settled on the stone, and everything else became a blur, scarcely feeling as your legs carried you towards it.

The crumbling remains of whatever temple had been here before grew thicker the closer to the center you got, and you could see the stone, resting against something, jutting out of the ground. Even in the darkness, with the wear of time, the sword gleamed in the reflection of the light Verstael had brought with him.

The unfamiliar part of you felt something, but not remorse. It was sobering, however, to see the carved stone in the shape of the long gone king. Though it was weathered, it amazed you how well preserved it was for its age.

“Is this him?” asked Verstael, pointing his light at the stone to get a better look himself.

You knitted your brows, frustration and subdued hatred growing on your expression. With your hand, you reached down and touched the stone effigy of Somnus’s face, tracing the details. He wasn’t quite what you remembered, older, wild hair - and when had he grown a beard? But all the same…

“It’s him,” you answered. Firmly. Distantly. “He sleeps soundly, for someone who committed such atrocities against his own people. And what he did to me, what he turned me into…”

You trailed off, no longer sure where you were finding the words to speak. These weren’t your feelings, but you felt yourself swayed by them, like being swept away by a particularly emotional, but biased story told by a friend. A hollow anger crept into your chest, and you trailed your hand down to the hilt of the sword he held in both of his hands. Here it was… identical to your own, once, before your blade had become twisted as you began to change.

Was Somnus really responsible for what Ardyn became? It was absorbing the scourge that slowly corrupted this body, even if he had helped tip him over the edge at last. It was just during Somnus's final push that it became too much to bear, and he succumbed to the scourge. But… that should have been the end. Why didn’t you die? 

Your head throbbed, and as you grasped the hilt of the sword, your other hand clutched your temple.

It was Somnus who had tried to kill you, who tried to bury you. Whose direct descendents must have known, to the current year, at least of your existence. No matter how it happened, Somnus was wrong. 

It must have been some kind of joke on the Astrals' part, to find yourself in your position, waking with a sword solidly lodged in your chest in a pool of scourge and blood. To be abandoned altogether, after more than one threat against your life, when you were hurting and afraid. The crystal had seen that Somnus already possessed the throne. In that time when you awoke, you had no one. Least of all any family.

And even now… when they were all long gone, you had no one, and understood no more about your unique condition than before. 

You let your glamour slip, a painful tingling as your eyes began to leak. You could feel the mark of the scourge across your skin as it seemed to writhe, hear the dripping of the ooze against the stones at your feet. 

Clenching your jaw, tightening your grip on the sword, you pulled. 

Nothing.

No matter how you tugged, or in what direction, it remained firmly in the statue’s grasp. You were in too much of a fog to figure this one out, overcome by something you couldn't understand.

Hazy miasma flowed off of you in tendrils that vanished the second they left your form, but you didn’t care. Let it pour. The anguish you felt couldn’t be contained within your body forever, no matter how much you wished not to be controlled by these emotions.

“Izunia,” murmured Verstael.

Hearing your name spoken aloud caused your senses to realign, a sudden clarity brushing away some of the fog in your mind.

You loosened your grip on the immovable sword, but your eyes remained cold, even as you looked to Verstael.

“It won’t budge,” you said, almost childishly. A strange distortion had entered your voice, faint, but audible. “Old magic, maybe.”

You were starting a frustrated spiral in your head, feeling yourself being frayed from both ends.

“The armiger. Those blades you make use of. How do you create them?” he asked. 

The demanding curiosity in his tone had an underlying note of… concern? Perhaps not for you, but the situation you were creating. You needed to come down from this, but something was whispering in your ear, making it harder to focus. 

You looked back down at your hands, to the sword. How did you do it, once you were commanded to think about the process? Usually, you did things like this almost by accident. 

Instead, you released the hilt, thinking quietly.

“This sword…” you growled, staring down at it. “You are not a historian, but would you like to know its true name, lost to time?”

Your voice did not lose the edge of distortion, and you could feel the raw pressure you exuded, if inadvertently. 

Verstael only nodded. For once, he dared not speak. 

For some reason, you smirked, a gesture you were sure looked hideous on your diseased features. You revelled in his silence a moment longer, turning your eyes to his. 

“Once, it was called the Yaksha blade” you said, purring. “The posthumous titles bestowed to each king, and their respective arms, are all that remains of most, but there was nothing so Mystical about this man to warrant such a grand moniker.”

Verstael was not a superstitious man, nor was he one to suffer the ramblings of anyone deemed less than him. You were another story. When you spoke, he often listened. As you stood in front of the Founder King's tomb, something ancient dripping from each word to him, he was enthralled.

The urge to tempt him further was too great. 

“You may be the only living human to know,” you said, stepping closer to him. “To ever know, since you are the only one who knows my true nature. A boring little tidbit, I'm sure, but you have been trusted with it. Does that satisfy you?"

Verstael didn’t flinch, even when your face was mere inches from his own. A ghoulish echo of a human form, too consumed by whatever had come over you. He ought to have been terrified, but instead he was frozen in awe. Though your hands itched, your arms stayed firmly at your sides. You held onto enough of yourself to refrain from touching him. The other side of you didn’t fight you on the matter. You needed this man.

"Or would you have me bring down the stars?"

You almost chuckled with delight when the other man’s eyes widened, his already large pupils dilating further in the darkness as he shivered. Was it finally fear in his eyes, or was he moved to silence by his own excitement?

The sword seemed to be the farthest thing from your mind as you advanced on him, but you ceased your torment of the other man to return your attention to your prize.

Your hand raised, seemingly on its own, extending to the tomb. 

There it was. You could feel it.

“Are you watching, Verstael? I would hate for you to miss this.”

If a weapon could have something akin to a soul, it was here, sealed away in Somnus’s final resting place.

You called out to the blade, and it answered. A light illuminated your form, swallowing you as the night swaddled the tiny star you stood on, a vibrant red hue that made it impossible for Verstael to continue staring at. You, on the other hand, never looked away.

From the sword, a ghostly red shape appeared out of it, taking the form of the blade in front of you.

Once again, the Yaksha blade pierced your chest, but you only opened your arms to receive it. It rushed at you with such force that you doubled over. 

For a moment, images flashed in your mind. The sensation was similar to your stolen memories, but far more concentrated. This was not the general knowledge you inherited from most, nor was it your own doing. 

In a fine bed, an elderly man rested, weakened either by age or unknown illness. The bed was strewn with plush cushions, being used to prop the man up, for his health, you realized, rather than just comfort. The man's tired blue eyes were fading, his breath slow and heavy. At his bedside were his children, and his grandchildren, extended family members already beginning the mourning of their great patriarch. In the hand of one of his sons, a small trinket, perhaps an heirloom. A black-banded ring.

The man's eyes closed, and his light extinguished.

Somnus's final moments, surrounded by very human comforts that you had never come to know. They had all been stolen from you. 

Anger bubbled within you, threatening to overflow again, but the images ceased at last.

Just as quickly, the light vanished, and with it the scourge subsided.

You fell to your knees, a sense of quiet washing over you. It was as if your ears had been ringing until only a moment ago. The whispering was gone at last.

Suddenly, you felt like yourself again.

You breathed labouredly, leaning carefully to get to your feet. 

Verstael was still there, perhaps not gaping, but he still didn't move. It worried you a little, as you turned. Had you broken him? 

A quick dab at your grimy cheeks told you that you were still in rough condition. But you would solve that later. 

"I have it," you said to him, snapping him out of whatever he was thinking about.

You held out your hand to show him, flicking your wrist to summon the sword. The same ghostly red outline appeared in your hand, but you could feel its weight. Though the real thing remained with its owner, you had what you came for. 

"This is it?" he asked, looking down. 

You nodded. "It's enough for me. For now."

For now. Maybe you would be a little greedy. There were still other arms out of your reach. Would it satisfy you to possess them? 

Probably not, but there was plenty of time. 

The dizzying high was fading, you could feel it draining you. 

You didn't speak again until you were back in the car. 

"Please excuse my behavior," you said, once you had started moving. "I don't know what came over me."

Verstael somehow seemed reinvigorated, now that the storm had passed. He wore an expression of smug satisfaction. "Whatever do you have to apologize for? I know what I signed up for."

Did he, though?

"Still, that could have been worse," you mumbled, looking out the window. "I can't afford to lose control. You could have ended up like the others."

"A daemon?" he hummed, but once again, he was unfazed. "There are worse fates."

"You could try showing some concern for your own well-being," you said, cutting your eyes back to him.

How had you let yourself be surrounded by lunatics? At least you knew Verstael didn't have a death wish, though he was dangerous, and did seemingly possess an uncanny amount of luck.

"Just try holding onto whatever feelings you were channeling at the tomb," he said instead. "Save your anger for this wretched place."

You really didn't mean to take it to heart. Verstael didn't fully understand you, and his advice never came from a good place, but you could feel it taking root. The same thought had occurred to you more than once, against your will. It was not your fight, but the scene at Somnus's deathbed flickered into your mind again. In each of their eyes, you saw only him.

If it wasn't your life to live, then why did it infuriate you so?

"You need me," you affirmed. "And I have no other place here. All I can do is continue to aid you. Whatever you wish, if it's in my power to give it to you…" 

Again, you trailed off, realizing you really shouldn't enable him. You really didn't even need to enable him. Whatever he wanted, he would take anyway.

Thankfully, Verstael didn't answer, but his silence was not out of ignorance. Your words had set him thinking again, gears turning to a palpable extent that made you glad there was no one else on the road. This was a man with aspirations, whatever they might have been. 

You hoped your extension of your services wouldn't come back to haunt you.

After Verstael left you to return to the camp, you finally let yourself rest. It had been a while, but you needed the sleep, even if you had to make do in the car. It wasn't the worst place to nap. 

With the top of the car down, you could fall asleep, staring at the stars that remained visible between the shadows of the cloudy night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not something I could rly make clear in this chapter alone but I've always liked the idea of the tombs actually being shaped like the person they depict, since they're supposed to have the king's remains, I thought it would be cooler if they weren't just. Representative of the concept of a monarch. I did, however, base my description of Somnus's off of the single model they use in the game. 
> 
> Also I figured I'd better give an in story reason for why i prefer the Japanese version's Yaksha blade over the blade of the mystic. Whoops.
> 
> If you're still with me, thanks for sticking around, bc this is really just my sandbox!!


	15. M.E. 723-III-00

Beside you was a horse. 

Not the kind you knew, with their strange limbs, twisted horns, and wild eyes, feral creatures that became enraged and caused a panic whenever they got too close to civilization. A real horse, sturdy, well kept for one who had seen so much use. A deep, deep velvet brown coat that was so dark, it may as well have been black, the way it gleamed in the warm sunlight. 

Such a creature that could be as much of a companion as a means of transportation had not existed in a long time. Looking at her, touching her, your hand brushing against her lead, left you with an ache you didn’t expect, like you hadn’t even realized there was any such thing  _ to _ miss.

Whatever had happened to the others of her kind? Perhaps they had been twisted by the reemerging plague that had never truly faded. In two thousand years, much had changed. Domesticated horses all but vanished, yet the idea of them, daily use, companions, even as beasts of burden, had not left the vernacular of the modern era. Bastardizations of old phrases involving horses survived, though you doubted most people who didn’t study language cared about the origins of those phrases. Yet, they had functionally been replaced by oversized avians, if you could believe it.

Not that you had ever disliked chocobos, in fact you yourself held a sort of distant respect for all animals, that had come from living in an isolated city with little wildlife. But confronting this memory of a horse, Ardyn’s horse, long gone from this terrible world, made you realize just how strange existing in the modern world must be, to someone who had lived so long and knew nothing from the time he had missed.

“Good girl, Strata,” you whispered, chuckling when she attempted to playfully nibble at your hair. 

You were waiting for someone by the water, giving your horse a chance to rest. Your body was sore from the long ride here, and after your meeting, you would be moving on again. Both of you needed some sort of reprieve. You just hoped this would be enough for her.

To the north, there was a small fishing village. It was close enough that you could see people coming and going from it, but not so close that you could make out any of the figures from this distance. Not until one of them finally broke off from the main road, and was heading in your direction, slowly. The figure wore a white cloak that was too large for their figure, a stark contrast to the ruddy, chestnut horse it was seated on. 

The sand didn’t seem to agree with this rider’s horse, or the horse objected to it, because it moved slowly, and oddly, picking up its hooves with its ears splayed back. Despite the slightly bumpy ride, the rider seemed patient, and unfazed. The ache in your chest turned instead to a pleasant swell as you watched the figure approach, and your expression softened even despite the sun overhead.

You pressed your face to Strata’s neck, unable to contain the swell of happiness you felt. 

Eventually, horse and rider reached a close enough distance that the rider finally dismounted, taking hold of the lead instead, until that too was abandoned. The chestnut horse was content not to be led across the sand anymore, instead watching as its rider ran, somewhat clumsily, to you, arms thrown open.

You opened your stance to receive your attacker, laughing as you caught her in your arms, her legs wrapping around your thighs as she fell against you. After a few moments, your legs buckled dramatically, and you cried out in exaggerated surprise as you allowed yourself to tumble to the sand. Aera buried her face in your chest for the fall, laughing until her cheeks turned a pleasant pink. 

She pulled the hood of her cloak down, still sitting on top of you. You made no attempt to move, instead staring lazily up at her despite the clinging sand that was getting in your hair. 

“Somnus suspects nothing?” you asked, reaching a hand up to her face to stroke a piece of hair away from her eyes. 

“If so, not until I was long gone from the citadel,” she said, looking quite satisfied.

“He will notice if you’ve stolen away one of our horses,” you said, inclining your head in the direction of the chestnut horse.

Aera shook her head. “This one was borrowed. I feel almost guilty for even daring to ask for him, but once I return to town, I will see that he’s returned to his owner personally.”

“The gods will not fault you for borrowing a horse,” you snorted, turning your attention back to her. “It isn’t as though you stole it.”

But perhaps, they would have forgiven her if she had. She, the listener of voices divine, a woman who devoted her life to this calling. If she did wrong in the name of seeing the face of the man she loved after such a long time parting, perhaps even the Draconian could be swayed to turn a blind eye.

“You may yet find something of yours stolen, but not a horse,” she teased, leaning down over you. Her hair fell over you, tickling your face. 

“Oh?” you asked, moving your hands so that both of them were pleasantly at her sides. “What could that be, I wonder?”

Instead of answering, she smirked, a tender look in her eyes. The ends of her hair that tickled your face fell even farther as her head bowed, and her lips brushed yours. She surprised you with a gentle nip of her teeth, causing your eyes to flutter back open.

“Too much?” she asked, lifting her head to blink innocently at you.

You shook your head. “Not at all. More than I expected, but by all means, pray, continue.”

Aera laughed, but she did continue. Her hands clasped your shoulders, and for a long while, you lie there, kissing her slowly. Finally, she rested her head in the crook of your neck.

Something in the motion, having even a light weight pressed against your throat, agitated it and you turned away from her, letting her roll off of you naturally to cough, clearing your throat.

“Are you unwell?” she asked, sitting up.

You slowly sat up after she did, a tickle still at your throat, your skin prickling where it was agitated. It was not a pleasant prickle, and felt more like something crawling, like the nagging of a too conspicuous mosquito.

“No,” you said, your voice slightly hoarse. “I performed a healing only a few hours ago; I’m just a little weary.”

Aera tilted her head to one side reproachfully. “Show me.”

You sometimes wondered if you ever should have confessed to her your fears. This gift had been yours since your birth, but it was only within the last few years that you had begun to put it to a better use, since your parents had passed, leaving you and your brother as the candidates for a new role that frightened you more than it did Somnus. The power to heal… you had used it many, many times, even on your half brother growing up, healing anything from scrapes to the occasional broken arm… It never took as much out of you as healing this plague.

It occurred to you, at some point, that perhaps the two powers were separate. Perhaps healing a skinned knee was different, less complicated than removing an illness. You weren’t entirely sure, but after curing people of conditions that they never had imagined living without after an accident or age robbed them of some faculty of their body, you knew that the scourge was… something else. Whatever your gift might have been, you would have to be a fool not to realize what was slowly happening to you.

You sighed, then slowly obeyed, opening your tunic for her. 

It was faint, but encroaching across your chest, intersecting with the pinkish scars that already occupied the space, was an ugly mottling of something purplish, a far cry from the rich ichor that oozed from those you healed, but it was there. 

“Ardyn…” she breathed, reaching a hand out to you.

“Don’t touch it,” you warned, but she ignored you, and you didn’t stop her.

You felt anxious, showing the afflicted scar to her, but it wasn’t the first time she had seen it. Just the first time in a while, since it had begun to spread. After a while, the flare would begin to die down, but over time it had gotten worse, that was undeniable. And it was creeping outward from your breast, towards your neck.

“It isn’t as bad as it looks,” you said, easing into her touch in spite of yourself. 

“I’m sure it isn’t,” she said, and you believed her. “But that does little to stave off my worries.”

That was fair enough. Sometimes you worried too. The scourge was an illness not just of the body, but of the mind as well. As the scourge progressed, the afflicted would adopt unusual behaviors, begin to avoid the sun, withdraw from society out of mania or concern for their safety, but eventually they would lose themselves. No matter how many precautions they took. Most didn’t make it to that point before being discovered, and subsequently tortured, or left to die alone. That was why you had sworn to find and help these people before it came to that. 

You were lucky enough, you supposed, that you had not experienced such symptoms. That did not mean it didn’t leave its mark. Whatever the scourge was, for you had come to think of it as something that was living, it had claimed you, in a way. Good news for others, but to you, occasionally a frightening thought.

“It will fade soon,” you protested, though you didn’t complain as her hands roamed just a little more of your chest than the scar covered. “It needs time.”

“But still… this is much worse than the last time I saw it,” she said, her brow creasing. “What did it look like this morning?”

To be honest, you didn’t bother to look after you had healed the last victim you had met, so this was your first chance to take in what you could see of it as well, but… 

You motioned to about half of the area the odd tint covered, shrugging. “By tomorrow morning, it should return to being only half this size.”

It was obvious what she wanted to say, just by looking at her expression, but you both knew she didn’t need to repeat herself. It was still worse than before. It would slowly continue to get worse, unless you stopped altogether.

“I cannot give up on this,” you said, shaking your head. “Somnus proved that himself. The mere fact that he would stop me tells me that I’m doing the right thing.”

Aera nodded, a weak smile. “I must agree with you there. I believe that if you were not meant for this work, you would not be blessed with such a gift in the first place. But still. I worry.”

Sometimes fears were irrational, but you didn’t entertain any idea that there was no cause for concern. You agreed with her on one front: the gods would not give you this power if you were not meant to use it. If you could make a difference, you had to try.

“Despite this, I don’t experience any of the mental side effects that come with this curse,” you murmured, hoping your words reassured her more than you. “I should be able to continue, as long as I can keep it hidden.”

She closed your tunic with careful hands, nodding again, then adjusted herself so that she was laying against you. “I believe that. You know that I will always be with you, no matter what befalls you. I wish I could have escaped with you, but…”

You grunted in agreement, relaxing again as she linked your fingers. “This is no life for you. Nor me, really. I wouldn’t wish this on anyone.”

“You know that isn’t why I can’t stay,” she sighed. “The Six have given me the divine privilege of being their speaker, so I must obey. If I ignore my calling, there will be no one else to commune with the Crystal.”

“I know,” you said slowly, running a hand through her hair.

She reached out to cup your cheek, turning your head so you were facing her. Slowly, she leaned up, pressing her lips against yours again. This time it was softer, less fervent. Time seemed to slow in these moments, but then they were over too quickly.

“When the gods reach a decision… we will decide what to do from there,” she said. 

You knew she wanted to say more. She hoped you would be king, just to end this suffering. Somnus would _ have _ to concede, if things worked in your favor, but until then, she was meant to remain impartial. Even though you were betrothed to each other, she was not to show favor openly. It complicated things slightly, but you could adhere to the rules laid out by the Astrals.

You leaned into her hand as she stroked the rough side of your cheek.

It was melancholy, and transient, but it was the first pleasant dream you had seen in a long time.

* * *

It was odd, how you didn’t feel any pride as you cut the newspaper article from its page. 

You went out of your way to obtain a copy once it went to print, before leaving Lucis, but you had barely glanced at it until you returned to Niflheim.

Meeting the eyes of the photo was unpleasant, even though you weren’t unimpressed with Raix’s work. You didn’t even think it was a  _ bad _ photo, you looked presentable. The smile was… a bit crooked, maybe it didn’t quite reach your eyes, but that was the nature of a political photo op. Everything was an act.

The photo of you still didn’t feel right, that disconnection rearing its head again. You weren’t as fond of your public persona, but dwelling on what separated you, the role you played, and how you presented yourself professionally in that role was more trouble than it was worth. It only worsened the distance between yourself and the things that happened around you.

The black and white print, along with the article itself, went into a scrapbook with a plain leather cover. No fanfare, just easy storage. It probably appeared conceited to keep it, but a memento was surprisingly tangible when nearly everything else felt so slippery. Not that it would matter, eventually. 

Eventually, you would return to your own life. 

Then, this too would pass.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok so this one, I wanted to write something sort of normal as something of a transition, but I've got this awful little thought in the back of my head for a while
> 
> I would never take a game like dissidia as canon but here's the thing hear me out. During the Odin summoning sequence Ardyn says something like "Oh, to ride on horseback again" which... I just think is really funny, I hate the implication that domesticated horses ever existed and are now extinct. My notes for this chapter were just titled "horses are extinct" and a sign with a picture of a horse crossed out. 
> 
> Anyway, yeah, after this we're going to skip ahead a little more, I've got some ground to cover before I can take on any big events, so it might be a bit before I'm able to update again, but... I wanted to write something chill for once. So here's. A bigger glimpse of my take on Aera, I guess.
> 
> This project was supposed to be low effort but it's gotten bigger and bigger and now I'm making an outline and trying to sort out the canon timeline, so... ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯


	16. M.E. 723-725

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is more like a collection of snippets of passing time, so bear with me!! the timeline gets a little more sparse from here and I've got some ground I want to cover, but I feel like this is an absolute necessity, so there's kind of a sneak peak of what we're gonna see in the future here.

“She _is_ an exceptional specimen, but why have you brought her to me?” 

In order to remain on Iedolas’s good side, you had finally set out to make good on one of your many lofty promises. Sort of.

“You don’t want her?” you asked, looking at Verstael with surprise. “Since the daemons you create are disposed of, you’ve been wanting for test subjects, haven’t you? All your time since you stepped down from active duty has been spent keeping this facility running, you’ve hardly had any time to follow your own pursuits, am I wrong?”

Verstael stood closer to the contained daemon than you, as you hovered near the door. One arm folded, the other on his chin. You smiled slightly as you waited to hear which part he took issue with.

“Not for the fact that running this facility keeps me particularly _busy,”_ he admitted. He ran his fingers over the side of his face, as if he had only just registered the sound of his gloves being scratched by his slightly unkempt facial hair. What was he doing instead, if he had so much time on his hands? “It’s just… Didn’t you set out to return His Radiance’s wife to _him?_ I’m assuming that you came directly to me, and that he has no idea where you are.”

You had tracked down Empress Phasma. 

It hadn’t been an easy feat, but it wasn’t as difficult as you imagined. Niflheim didn’t have a very extensive network of people whose livelihoods involved containing the daemons. Not in the way the hunters of Lucis organized themselves, anyway. Despite that, you had been able to follow breadcrumbs left by local rumors and what you could pick up via radio between concerned citizens. It had taken many nights of camping out, crouched over a radio, with only a snack or two to provide a distraction, but you found her.

Capturing her had been a different nightmare altogether. You had a hard time controlling her, as it went with more powerful daemons. With others, their condition didn't matter, though. You were specifically ordered to bring her home alive if you found her, but wrangling her proved a difficult task.

And then, despite those orders, you took a long detour out of the area surrounding Gralea. Secretly transporting her on a freighter airship to the Magitek Production Facility. 

You weren't really certain why you had done it either. It would have been easier to inform the emperor and let him decide her fate himself after delivering the news. It was a whim, a sudden desire to play dangerously, that urged you to come out here.

“I have not yet reported my progress to the Emperor, no,” you said, giving a slight shrug. “But there is nothing I can do for her. I thought she might be of more use to you than anyone else. Afraid of getting caught with your hand in the cookie jar?”

Removing the scourge from an afflicted being was one thing, but doing the same to a full daemon… You had tried it once or twice during your excursion, just to be certain. The last time you attempted to heal her, you had instead corrupted her, not knowing how to tap into your healing ability. You didn’t want to make that mistake again, but what you had found was less than useful.

The daemons you had absorbed the scourge from had simply melted away in the night, flowing into you instead.

And despite that your body was already riddled with the parasite, it remained an unpleasant experience. It was alive, writhing under your skin in a way that was familiar but all too close for your tastes. After it settled, it seemed to coil within you, but it was waiting. Breathing with you each time you superficially filled your lungs. 

You wished a shower would remove the grimy feeling absorbing the daemons left you with.

Verstael scoffed at your suggestion, moving closer to the glass to get a better look.

Inside the containment cell, the daemon seemed to be studying Verstael back, pressing its clawed hands against the glass. Its ragged hair was hopelessly tangled in the thorns that covered its eyes, but the daemon didn’t need the use of its vision to find its prey.

“Does she appear to be intelligent at all?” asked Verstael.

“Not anymore than average, but she is unusually strong willed,” you said, tilting your head as Verstael’s posture finally relaxed. “Even I had a bit of trouble getting her to come along quietly. I’m not so sure she’ll be of any use to you like that, but… I’m sure you’ll think of something.”

“She may be as much of a danger to our side as the Lucians,” he murmured, thinking. “I’ll see what I can do.”

“In the meantime, I will have to come up with a story for His Radiance,” you said, stepping closer to him. You blatantly rested your arm on his shoulder, leaning just a little. “He doesn’t need to know my hunt was a success.”

Verstael muttered in agreement. "So long as this doesn't cost me my life's work, I don't particularly care what you tell him."

You applied slightly more pressure To his shoulder just to get a response out of him. "If you were branded for your hand in this, it would reflect badly on me too. If you wish to study her, it’s between us."

Verstael finally shrugged you off, shoving your arm away from himself as he pushed past you. "Oh, I wish to. If you can keep this between us, then I'll accept your gift."

You smiled at that, not entirely pleasantly. "My lips are sealed."

* * *

It was Verstael's idea, not yours, to give his army room to stretch, and find out what it would be capable of. 

While the design had gone through many changes, Verstael was making good time within his budget. The cloning process took the longest, so by the time he had a decent backlog they were already ready to remove from their tanks and be shuffled into assembly. All that remained was to store the tin soldiers until the full extent of the infantry was ready to be tested.

Which required approval, and a little finesse on your part.

Iedolas, despite the necessity of Verstael's role, wished to have as few dealings with the scientist himself as possible. For better or worse, Verstael needed you and your performance skills to act as his mouthpiece. The arrangement was preferred by both parties involved. 

What he was asking, however, was questionable at best. 

Now that you were living in your own suite in Gralea, some nights, you dined with Iedolas privately. It worked in your favor that he desired your company, as his council never quite warmed up to you. You couldn't fully blame them, since it was war that you were proposing, but the farther they slipped out of the picture, the better for you.

You sat beside Iedolas as his guest at the long table. The table was meant to serve far more, but was forever in disuse. Until recently, the emperor mainly dined alone. Now that you arrived, he seemed to have changed his opinion on the matter. Though you couldn't fathom why, he seemed to _enjoy_ your company.

"This is a local dish, but my kitchen staff uses only the finest quality ingredients, so if you've ever had the pleasure of tasting it before, I'm sure you've never had it quite like this," he was saying. "I am aware of how little you eat, but you really must try it. I insist."

The dish in front of you was some kind of game meat, in a ruddy marinade with shallots, scallops, and a hearty amount of seasonings. On the side were a garnish of poached tomatoes and multicolored peppers, though you weren't certain they were meant to be eaten. It was a poor man's dish, but a very rich man's version of the dish. And it would be rude not to indulge him, even if you weren't all that interested in the food. 

If not because he requested it, then for fear the staff may suffer the consequences if the emperor's dinner guest seemed to express distaste.

You carefully cut a bite of the meat, letting it soak in just a bit more of the marinade before placing it on your tongue with the fork.

“How does it compare?” asked Iedolas.

Actually, you did understand why he was so taken with you, apart from your crafted persona. 

He was like Verstael. He didn’t want to study you, but he did want you to be impressed, desperately. Probably, there was some novelty to introducing a man from ancient times to modern luxuries, in his eyes. If he only viewed you as a pet, however, he would not listen to you as keenly as he did. It was easy to play along with him.

“I can’t say I’ve ever had this dish before,” you admitted, holding the cloth napkin carefully after you swallowed. “My experience with Nif cuisine went from eating military grade rations to the fare here. I trust Your Radiance’s excellent taste, but I’m afraid I don’t have much to compare it to.”

A bit of a lie, you realized. You had scarcely eaten anything in Verstael’s old laboratory, but the food that was served to you was nicer than all that, despite being artificial. Initially, you assumed this meant the soldiers guarding the facility all survived on the same provisions, but it was a while before you learned otherwise. His meals were better than that of the soldiers, even though the food was all sourced to the lab and he could have accommodated them easily, and you were given preferential treatment. That probably wasn’t meant to be flattering.

Still, you really had little experience before then. Very little from the Empire lasted longer than a brief fad in Accordo. If this was a traditional meal, it was not likely to cross between the two cultures. And somehow, it was doubtful that Iedolas had ever tasted the common version of the dish himself.

“I did not invite you to my table to pay lip service to me,” he said, narrowing his eyes slightly. “I encourage you to speak freely.”

It was unwise to disrespect him, but he did respond better to bluntness. You would oblige only if asked. “Of course.”

“But I would like to accommodate your tastes, if I can. I will let my staff know, if you have any notes.”

You simply smiled and shook your head. “I wouldn’t worry. I’m not a difficult guest to please.”

Or at least, you didn’t care if the meal pleased you or not.

“No, I suppose not.”

You glanced up to see if your comment had offended him, but his expression was blank as he turned his attention to his own food. He wasn’t an unintelligent man, and that made him difficult to read at times like this, but you were sure what was on his mind. You almost felt guilty for rejecting him, but his isolation was his own decision. 

He had very recently taken the news about his wife rather well. Not the truth, that you had handed her over to Verstael, _that_ he didn’t need to know. You would never tell him. Instead, you had spun a tale for him about a small cluster of hunters, and the morning sun. 

Maybe preparing for her inevitable demise so early had made him a little numb to being told that she truly was lost, but he still mourned in his own ways. You didn’t blame him. 

Even raising his son had taken a backseat to his emotional state. The child wasn’t old enough for their bond to quell the loss of his wife. Rather, he spent his time moping when he wasn’t otherwise engaged, or so you heard. He seemed to be fond of slipping away from his guard for long moonlit walks, as well. 

Oddly, he seemed livelier when he was with you. 

After a few moments had passed, you spoke again. “Your Radiance, if I may. I hate to bring business to your table, but…”

Iedolas flicked his eyes up from his plate, looking over at you. “What does Besithia want now?”

You smiled with an appeasing amount of sheepishness. He knew well enough how this dance went.

“He asks me to inform you that production is ahead of schedule,” you said earnestly, punctuating it with a nod. “The warehouses will soon be full with your new infantry. All he’s asking is a chance to give them a trial run. I know you have plans to expand into Lucian territory in the next five years, but he insists that we need even less time to prepare before it can mobilize.”

"He wants to launch an attack?" He chewed thoughtfully, an almost sour look in his eyes.

He was a kind ruler, but even a kind ruler’s greed could be stoked, like any man. That was the task required of you if you meant to help Verstael succeed in any capacity. And while you hadn't been the _best_ student, you knew what the future held for this endeavor.

The gravity of what you were doing was obvious. The parts of Lucis that were under Niflheim control by the time you were old enough to be cognisant of the world were not yet occupied. By aiding Verstael, you were orchestrating that yourself. Thinking about it too deeply made your brain ache. You would rather immerse yourself in your role than dwell on it for long.

The satisfaction any inch of success brought you was unpleasant, and came from a place of deep bitterness. You shouldn’t have even harbored such ill intent, but you bore it like the scourge: against your will, but it was a part of you. 

Or at least, it had become a part of you.

* * *

“The magitek infantry is performing far beyond even my expectations,” Verstael said, puffing up with pride at his handiwork. “They cut through enemy forces as if they’re nothing, and I can produce enough of them that even if one is felled, ten more will replace it.”

The Lucian army was woefully unprepared for the Imperial army. Against an army of both human and daemon troops, the average soldier didn’t stand a chance. The loss of life was enough to turn your stomach.

But here you were, listening to Verstael gloat, and reveling in his infectious energy. Despite that he came off as irritating rather than charismatic, it was too easy to get swept away when something excited him. Especially when the thing he was so wrapped up in fed something in you that was darker than you wanted to confront. You tried not to let it get the better of you, but he was as much of an enabler as you were to him. 

It wasn’t like you had to lift a finger and participate, from the airship Verstael was using to observe from a reasonable distance. The Emperor had personally asked you to oversee the battlefield yourself, explicitly to report back to him, but you could have done that without Verstael. Staying with him was a way to distance yourself, in the end. He made your job easier, with his own observations, and more bearable.

You stood in the ship's loading bay with him, sipping at a wine glass as Verstael surveyed the onslaught, and you avoided it entirely.

“The Lucians aren’t equipped to handle your creations,” you said, looking at him solemnly. "Calling this a battle is… laughable."

He might have taken your words as a compliment, if not for your tone.

Verstael turned his eyes to look back at you, studying your expression. "You almost sound disappointed. We are making good progress towards your revenge against your tormentors and former captors, isn't that worth something?"

You gave him a weary smile. The thing inside you was pleased with the scene, but not content. It wanted something far more personal. You were glad Verstael could provide enough distraction to keep your eyes off the battlefield. "The strangest thing is, the answer to that depends on who you're asking."

For a moment his expression was odd while he watched you. The scanning process was painfully slow, but you felt something. An odd sense that he was seeing _you_ somehow. It mattered so little that the idea of being caught only excited you. What consequences would come to you, if he figured you out? Nothing that could frighten you.

But he looked away again, the moment passed. 

"I'm doing my part," you said, moving on, almost disappointed. "But I take no pleasure in bloodshed."

Verstael snorted, eyes still on the ground. "I don't believe that. I've seen the way you fight."

"The scourge may not control me, but it feels good to spread my wings, so to speak," you admitted. "In a different way, releasing control that way almost feels like that relief comes at a cost. I… don't feel like myself. You may record that, if you wish."

"I have a job to do here, Izunia," he grunted. "If you're dying to be examined, ask me afterwards, when we can go _home."_

Callous as ever. To you, and to the lives you had enabled him to take. 

It was easier to close your eyes, lean against the wall while you let him work, and let the wine taste all the sweeter.

* * *

As expected, the push into Insomnia was a bust.

It wasn't to say it was for nothing, though. The massive magical barrier surrounding much of Lucis had been an obstacle at first. In that time, the imperial army ravaged several small towns that happened to be on the outskirts of the wall. Collateral damage. The threat that the same could happen to any place within Lucis, if Niflheim didn't get its way. 

Whatever the reason might have been, as the push grew more aggressive, the wall began to recede. Slowly, at first, only as quickly as the soldiers could flee. Apparently, the young prince, Regis, had traveled to Accordo to invoke the old alliance between the two nations. The current leader of the Protectorate, though not in the empire's pocket, refused. If any further talks were to be had, it was already too late. That endeavor died before it even got off the ground due to the Lucian army's retreat.

And as soon as word was received that Prince Regis had in fact returned home safely, the wall all but vanished from the horizon. 

Mors Lucis Caelum made his concerns abundantly clear. Whether or not he had intended to lead imperial forces to Insomnia and away from the other regions, all it amounted to was showing outsiders that the king only looked after his own. Lucis was abandoned by the bloodline sworn to protect it. 

Insomnia was another story. This wall, you knew, would remain even into the present day. It was the only thing keeping imperial forces out of the city, and after much time had passed it still stood. After several months of _nothing,_ the infantry surrounding the overwhelmed, but impenetrable city had to be recalled. Niflheim would take its victory and quit while it was ahead, for now.

Production had begun hastily on massive fortresses throughout Lucis, establishing the military presence of Niflheim. They were cheaply built, and not well manned, but the symbolism wasn’t lost on anyone. It was more surprising that any attempts to stop the construction were quelled so easily.

The fact still stood that the empire had done something previously unthinkable, establishing themselves within Lucis.

Context for these happenings was frustrating, to say the least. 

At least it felt like your existence wasn't muddling things too much. Events seemed to be ironing out more or less the way you remembered. The idea of messing up the world you wished to rejoin nagged in the back of your head, but you wondered how much you had really ever known about happenings in the world. Surrounding yourself with Niflheim's most devoted loyalists wasn't doing much for your already uncomfortably skewed perspective, but you still felt like an unwilling observer, thankfully. 

You weren't a part of this world. The things happening around you didn't affect you, even when you actively participated in them. It was almost like a dream, but not a very good one. 

Even when time began to slip by, it still felt like you were just along for the ride.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm thinking about changing the name of the fic? It was kind of a joke to begin with but I never really got attached to it.
> 
> Anyway time is starting to move a little faster, but this isn't going to be the standard for the remainder of the fic, it just gives me a chance to move forward a little easier.


	17. M.E. 734-III-22nd

Time passed with frightening ease. 

It seemed like you were only just getting your footing, learning the rules of this life, but suddenly, entire years had gone by. 

It was faint, but it reflected in the world; King Mors was dead and gone, survived by his son, Regis. It was never outright stated, either in the news or from what information Niflheim’s intel could glean, but you were certain that the Wall had been the death of him, in the end. The magic that protected Insomnia slowly drained the life of the king that powered it. That alone was a tall order, and now the burden was passed to Regis. You were part of the thing the Wall was designed to keep out, but even you thought things shouldn’t be this way. Being favored by the gods had its own downsides, it seemed. 

It was visible in the faces of those who had come to think of you as a confidant.

A portion of Zegnautus Keep contained an artificial garden, with balconies overlooking the courtyard from above. While it, and the sun it provided at all hours regardless of the time of day, was as fake as everything else imperial hands seemed to touch, it was your favorite part of the capital. The room itself was cold metal like the rest of the Keep, which made it appear much more like the botanical conservatory it really was, but it was probably the greenest thing in the empire's harsh deserts. You couldn’t enjoy it comfortably in the presence of others, due to the artificial sun, but you looked on from the balcony, as Iedolas walked with his young son in the garden. 

You smiled just a little as you watched them, but on your features that must have seemed strange. Most of the time, your smile masked darker thoughts than you intended to share, but this one was genuine. In ten years, you had become accustomed to the faces around you, even as they aged, and their stories became personal. It was… good, to see the Emperor adapting healthier behaviors. His son, Filius, was still mainly raised by hired caretakers, but at least he put aside time for the boy. 

The dark brown hair Iedolas had when you met him was riddled with greying hairs, and though the life had returned to his eyes over time, they never regained their brightness. Time was slowly catching up with them all. Filius must have been eleven by now, with his twelfth birthday not far off. 

Clattering metal footsteps behind you alerted you to the other entering the balcony behind you. They were not the hollow sound of a magitek soldier, but something real and sturdy. And predictably nosy. 

“Is that a smile? Perhaps you aren’t fit for this mission after all,” snorted Verstael, moving around you to lean against the wide, criss-crossed support beam beside you.

Verstael in particular looked a little worse for wear. These days, it seemed like he cared less about his appearance, a side effect of devoting his time solely to lab work for the better part of a decade now. He went longer between getting his hair trimmed, usually only cutting the ends when their length started to bother him, and it was hard to tell, but you thought the top might have been thinning a little. Most days he went unshaven, only doing anything about it if he was appearing in important company, or if his unkemptness started to annoy him. If you happened to arrive at the facility, it was a tossup if he was prepared to meet you or not. Sometimes he would scurry off to clean himself up, other times he was too absorbed in his work to bother. 

His visit to Gralea was due to the operation scheduled to take place in a handful of days, so for now he remained well-groomed, but you weren’t oblivious to how time was changing him.

In his eyes time was passing, tired, the rings around his eyes were a little heavier than before, but your body did not age a day. His obvious envy would have killed him to look at you, if he weren't so smitten. 

You rolled your eyes, your smile fading out of habit. “I am the only one fit for it, between my body and the knowledge I’ve collected of the Crown City. You will have your way, one way or another.”

Verstael turned away from the support, to look down at whatever you saw. He spied Iedolas and the young heir, too far away to hear their conversation. Filius pointed at something in the dense foliage, his father following behind him slowly as he rushed off to look. He didn’t share his son’s energy, but even from here you could see that he was smiling.

“Do you have a soft spot for children, Izunia?” he asked.

You merely shrugged, following his eyes, but your smile didn’t return, even at the use of your own name. “I suspect you’re about to accuse me of jealousy. Even supposing that I _do_ envy the lives of normal humans, can I not be happy for a friend?”

“Whether or not you truly consider His Radiance a friend aside, I think you _are_ jealous though,” he said, flicking his eyes back to yours. There he went again. “Do you ever wish for a family? Companionship? Do you miss the dull, domestic lives of us mortals?”

This was the way he interacted with the world. He provoked, but it was and always had been a learning tool. He always did this, when something intrigued him, which meant that you were a constant target, because he was still fascinated by you even now. If you weren’t at least a little flattered, you probably wouldn’t have indulged him. Unfortunately, you were long used to handling him.

“I believe I have as much companionship as I can manage, in my situation,” you said, glancing at him through the corner of your eye. _In your situation,_ as a being that was forcibly removed from a human’s station, but also someone who had no right to _be_ where you were. “But… it’s not those things I desire. They all require a kind of freedom that this body bars me from experiencing.”

“You miss that freedom,” he guessed correctly, and you only grunted in response. 

“I must,” you added, unsure what to make of it yourself. Your feelings had not grown any less complex or confused with time. “But I’m not looking for reassurance. I can’t fully explain to someone who has never been undying why that might be a double edged sword. Especially not to you.”

He looked away from the garden again, resting against the support once more. He folded his arms as he looked at you. Sunlight, even indirect and artificial, did wonderful things for humans, especially those who lived most of the time in the snowy mountains and rarely saw any. You thought he might have looked content, if this man ever felt any relief from his own greed at all.

“I’ve heard your excuses, but it isn’t something I can relate to, no,” he admitted, closing his eyes. “I must have said so a thousand times, but a human life is far too short. I learned that as a soldier, and as a man of science, studying far into the late hours of the night, with far more ahead of me than I could ever accomplish in one lifetime. I do not desire to be forced to die for someone else, or to die before I feel I’ve reached my fullest potential. This world is full of mysteries; you’re living proof of how little we understand even now.”

His speech became especially grand when he tried to express himself to you, which he had always been unfortunately poor at doing in a straightforward manner. Either he was trying to find common ground with you, or court you. You were not human, but he did not want you to be, so it was probably the latter, you had eventually decided.

You gave him a rueful smile. “I’m afraid I can’t help you with that. Despite your feelings on the average human's lifespan, you’ve never taken advantage of your freedom, I’ve noticed. You’re married to your career, probably more than your noble family ever intended for you to be. Am I correct?”

At this, Verstael shrugged, smirking at you instead. “I have the freedom, yes, but my set of interests and very few attempts present their own challenges. Some would probably call me a ‘confirmed bachelor.’ That's the most polite way I've heard it phrased, but it isn't an untrue statement."

You flicked the brim of your hat just a little at him, scoffing. “Yes, I’ve known. If I knew how to make heads or tails of myself, I might feel similarly. Understanding myself has… taken the back seat to everything else in my life. I don’t need to add to the list of things to ponder alone at night.”

And that was even before considering that Ardyn had once been engaged, and those feelings still lingered somewhere within you, deeper than you wanted to look.

To your surprise, he seemed to understand your confusion, nodding sagely. He looked almost weary. “My work comes first and foremost, but I can honestly say that realizing that about myself restored some peace of mind to sleepless nights. Your body doesn’t need rest, but trying might bring you some clarity at any rate.”

Was that… genuine advice? From Verstael?

“My situation is a bit more complex than that,” you admitted, a crooked smile as you looked at him. “I mean no offense, but… No. I don’t think it will do me any good to dwell on myself. All I want is to make certain this operation goes over smoothly.”

Verstael's neutral expression wasn’t particularly pleasant, but the face he gave you was decidedly a frown. “Yes, that would be grand, but surely you want more than that? You and I are about to bring the last phase of Niflheim’s conquest to fruition. That must come with some satisfaction.”

You shrugged, but nodded a little anyway. You hated the obsession, but you had to admit that you felt it. “A little… Yes, I guess it does do _something_ for me. I would probably be happier if I only felt indifference to the Lucians. As I said, focusing on myself would only be one more thing to worry about.”

He raised one eyebrow as he looked at you, thinking. "We have been planning this for nearly a decade, do you still have some lingering guilt? You’ve seen how the Lucian king treats his own citizens. The Lucian royal family’s way of ruling is long outdated, and cannot be left alone."

Nevermind that Niflheim itself was slipping culturally already. Would annexing what was left of Lucis fix that?

"I have some hesitations about what our forces are doing to the citizens you claim to be saving, but it’s far too late for that. I will do what I feel I'm meant to do. Right now, as always, I find myself tangled up in your schemes, so I will help you," you said, though that felt like a dangerous promise. The parts of yourself that you thought of as being your true self were too tangled to make sense of anymore, but they were still there. Somewhere. "Whatever sense of direction seems to be guiding me, if it can be called that, is the only thing I really understand."

Verstael looked like he was about to press you for more answers on that subject. Even after ten years, you were reluctant to give him any real clues.

He often tempted you with distractions of the luxuries his career afforded him, whenever you saw him. It turned out that war was a very lucrative business, and he was at the seat of it, his pay double what the highest ranking military officials made. The food and drink he offered should have tasted like rust and rot, but you embraced anything that could pass the time. His presence offered an amount of understanding, and the opportunity to stop performing as you did for the rest of the world. Even if he didn't fully understand you either, he was undoubtedly the only person who came close. 

A new shadow darkened the doorway leading into the indoor garden area. You turned to look, while Verstael only lifted his head to greet the newcomer, though not without a small trace of animosity. He must have felt as though they were intruding, but you couldn’t have been more relieved.

The intruder in question was a tall, stout woman with short grey hair, a sour expression, and a full suit of armor, sans helmet. 

Dulcis Invictia.

Her dark eyes glared between the two of you standing in perhaps too close proximity to each other before settling on Verstael. You couldn’t stop the smirk that found its way to your lips at her apparent disdain for the man. 

"Invictia," he said, his voice gaining a slight edge.

The general did not salute him. This was because despite the fact that he was her senior, she had taken over his previous position at the helm of Niflheim's military. And she was not particularly happy that he was taking charge of this particular operation instead of her. She didn't realize that the decision was because of your involvement in the effort, and not because she was being snubbed directly.

She had only been in this position for the past six years. The previous general had died in combat under unusual circumstances, and if she still had anything left to gain from him at all, you might have been worried that Verstael could end up with a knife in his back. Or, if she was feeling especially audacious, her signature handaxe. 

“Battle preparations are complete, Minister,” she said, glaring at you when she caught your smirk. 

“So soon?” you hummed, not particularly intimidated. “We’re a bit ahead of schedule then, aren’t we?”

“Yes, some of us have an entire army to run,” she said instead, brushing you off easily.

“That is good news,” said Verstael, ignoring her jab rather gracefully, except for the fact that he was still scowling. “The Lucians’ Founder’s Day Festival is four days away from now. As long as you arrive in time for the festivities, Izunia, we’re making good time.”

The majority of the crownsguard’s focus would be dedicated to protecting the king during the annual parade around the city. That would take some of the attention away from the generators that were supporting Insomnia’s Wall. And then…

Well, and then the Wall would go down, the theory went. And when the wall lowered, Niflheim’s army would storm the city.

It ought to have bothered you more, you guessed, but… it didn’t. Admittedly, you had seen enough of Lucis’s true face to feed the unfortunate animosity you felt. Not enough to spur you to action, but enough that when it was proposed that you enter the city alone for the job, you hadn’t protested. Not when it sort of made sense. You didn’t know how the generators worked, but anyone could take out a machine, if they had your arsenal at their disposal. And when they could enter the city undetected, likely wearing the face of some personnel officer, which would need to be arranged shortly. And really, if you tried to decline the suggestion, wouldn’t it call into question whether you were truly on the Empire’s side or not? After all, rumors of your nationality had arisen ever since you became chancellor. 

That aside, after the war, much of Lucis never really recovered, and Insomnia didn’t seem keen on rebuilding the towns that were lost to imperial raids. A lot of people, even those who had been within the Wall before it was recalled, disagreed with that decision. Yourself included.

“I’ll arrange for an airship to take you into Lucian territory,” said Dulcis. “From the Fort there, you will have to find more subtle transportation, so I will have a vehicle prepared for you there.”

You shook your head. “No need, I have my own _top secret_ mission to attend to once I arrive in Lucis. I’ll find my own way.”

Dulcis flared her nostrils at you at that. She was not privy to the details of your mission, which now included finding a victim whose face you could borrow. Though much of the higher ups knew you were something of a mystic, the finer details were unspecified. The fact that military personnel changed frequently worked in your favor, in cases like these. None of them had worked with you long enough to notice that your appearance hadn’t changed much, if at all, in the last decade. There was a lot she didn't know, and you knew she hated that. 

“Very well. The airship, then. Expect to leave tomorrow morning. _Early,”_ she emphasized. The trip was shorter by airship, but would take a considerable portion of the day anyway. Not that you minded, with four days before the Festival. That did give you time to find a suitable disguise.

“I’m looking forward to it,” you said, wishing your enthusiasm was entirely a lie instead of only half. 

The general scoffed at that, turning on her heel with an acknowledging grunt to Verstael. She stormed back in the direction she had come from.

You let a few moments pass as you watched her, then flicked your eyes back to the man next to you. Silently, you turned, looking down into the garden to see that it seemed Iedolas and Filius were wrapping up. They were still talking, but inching ever closer to the exit. You could step out into the garden soon, without risking frightening the child. Which you probably would take advantage of, since you had no preparations to make before leaving for Lucis.

“She certainly has it out for you,” you hummed, turning your attention back to Verstael. “Too bad she already disposed of the officer you recommended personally.”

Verstael rolled his eyes. “Please. _My_ role is more than secure. I’d like to see her engineer a mass produced army.”

You chuckled at that, then gestured down at the garden below you as father and son finally shuffled through the doorway and back into the Keep. “I don’t suppose you’ll sit with me a while longer, if you aren’t too busy?”

Verstael curled his lip slightly in disgust, a noticeable crease forming at the corner of his mouth as he did so. “And risk agitating my allergies even further? You’ll see plenty of me beginning tomorrow, when we leave for Lucis. I’ll be there to advise you once you’re inside the city, so I won’t be far off.”

He tilted his head at you, his expression turning to one of mild curiosity. “But, if you really can’t wait that long, then perhaps you’ll join me tonight for dinner?”

You really should stay away from him. His influence on you was obvious, and frankly, unhealthy for your mind. You ought to be better at saying no to him, but it sounded so enticing. 

“Now, that I _am_ looking forward to,” you said, against your judgement. “I hope you’ve brought refreshments with you. Your taste in vintages is more to my liking than His Radiance's, and this business in Lucis will be thirsty work.”

He nodded, giving a coy smile, his eyes half listed as he looked at you. “Naturally. Though the wine, I think, would be better enjoyed in my quarters. Or yours, if you prefer.”

You paused, looking at him oddly. From interacting with him enough, it was plain that he held some interest in you beyond the relationship of… a scientist and the ancient monster uncovered by the scientist. That was no secret. But for once, he was being forward. He was known to be rash when he was in good spirits, though. 

It had been a frustratingly long time since you were very close to another human. While you weren't sure what you wanted from him, his presence was a constant, and maybe you actually _did_ prefer having him closer by than the Magitek Production Facility in the frigid mountains. Company was nice… once in a while.

"I'm not so sure that you aren't the one who can't make it to morning without me," you said, feeling a bit like a schoolboy as you avoided the question. "Did you come here, to the garden, to extend this invitation?"

"I came because I knew where to expect to find you," answered Verstael, a frown returning to his features when you didn't give an immediate answer. His ego was a little too easily bruised, if he felt he was being insulted, but you were used to that.

He was trying to be smooth, but you suspected it had been a long time since he had invited anyone to his room. And perhaps he had been waiting long enough, or maybe he was simply spoiled by you. After all, you gave him nearly everything else he asked of you. 

There were complicated thoughts on the matter, but all of them were fully your own. No whispers of kings, or crystals, or long dead fiancees in your head. If you were thinking clearly, though, you would refuse, but your feelings weren’t logical. 

“Dinner first, then,” you said quietly, not minding much when his gloved hand brushed yours. “Perhaps we can… see where the evening takes us.”

You realized you minded decidedly more when he removed his hand a moment later, murmuring some parting words to you before he made his own way back inside. You hadn’t quite heard them, but you were sure they were a commitment of some sort. Whatever he had said, a pleasant tangle of emotions was settling in your stomach as you warped into the lower area of the garden, seeking out a lamp-warmed bench to sit on while you sorted out your thoughts.

Oh, these were complicated feelings. Too much to process right before a one man invasion, which was already slowly darkening your mood. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gearing up for the other half of Episode Ardyn, but I didn't expect... ANY of this to happen while I was trying to write the setup to it. The next chapter will move the plot forward finally :)


	18. M.E. 734-III-26th (mid morning)

It was a relief that Verstael had been in good spirits, since you had fumbled through dinner and the encounter that followed, badly enough that you weren't certain there would be a repeat. It couldn't have been more obvious that you lacked any recent experience in such delicate matters, but he had been surprisingly patient with you. Perhaps only to savor the moment himself, but both the company and conversation had overall been… pleasant.

Dragging your mind away from the night's events was made more difficult by the fact that you fell into a blissful sleep, upon returning to your quarters. Dreamless, for once, but you felt sluggish upon waking. The silence of your dreams was probably a blessing, you thought after boarding the airship, or an omen. 

Occupying the same space with Verstael aboard the military vessel felt different, somehow. He had a sixth sense, almost, for knowing when things would work in his favor. Not always in the way he imagined; sometimes he was just lucky to stay alive, but that itself was no small victory. He became more confident when he felt he couldn't lose. You weren't unaware of his feelings before, but he must have a very good feeling about the near future if he was so direct with you. That somehow inspired a kind of confidence in you as well, despite your uncertainty that any such attack had ever occurred in the Lucian capital. 

Those thoughts had to be put on hold once you landed in Lucian territory. You hated to think of it as anything but a necessity, but you had a job to do. Let your mind be plagued by the cloudy feeling that had all but vanished the previous night. You needed whatever it was that muddled your thoughts to get through jobs like this, and presence of mind was the last thing you wanted.

Final preparations were made in Lucian territory, in the remaining three days before the festival. Battle plans, for what came after your portion of the operation. After all, it all came down to you. 

The element of surprise would be lost as soon as the attack began, and since it would be difficult to be discreet, it was decided early on that you would not show your face. Whether or not you could be identified by your unique array of abilities was another matter, but the public should not be able to make the connection between the Lucians’ missing monster and the Chancellor of Niflheim. You were certain  _ someone _ would recognize you, considering that there had been a target painted on your back since this body first became yours, but no one who  _ could  _ recognize you would ever acknowledge your existence, much less that they had lost you. The only eyes you needed to fool were those of any witnesses, and with that in mind, you began your mask shopping.

There were plenty of small outposts to choose from at the border, specifically constructed to keep watch on the fortresses built by the empire. If just one person disappeared from one of them, they wouldn't realize anything had happened. They were far more likely to think the soldier in question had gone AWOL rather than meeting a terrible fate. Singling a soldier out, one Mars Sapientia, and daemonifying him was easy. You wondered if he would even be missed, as that foggy feeling overtook you. Your actions felt far less true to yourself, but they felt right somehow. Like… this was meant to happen. Knowing you were back in that rut didn’t make you feel any better. Any satisfaction you could take in your actions felt the same as the kind indulging any disgustingly bad habit brought you. It was hollow, and frustrating.

Though much depended on you, you weren't completely alone. It was Verstael who would guide you through the process, if you were lucky that his information was accurate. You had a radio to communicate with, which would help immensely while Verstael, Dulcis, and units composed of both human and magitek troops remained outside, out of view of the city's border. And you? You would do your best to remain undetected.

You took a cab into the city. 

Your driver wasn't especially chatty, but the trip felt too long. At least, longer than it really was, for someone who was hiding the blood stain from where the soldier had shot at  _ you, _ before you had taken his ID badge. Your conscience wasn’t weighing on you per se, but you did possess an anxiety that you knew only because of what you had done. The radio announcement that a soldier had gone missing from his station just earlier in the day. The driver, if he noticed, didn’t comment on it, but his polite questioning made you eager to escape.

If no one looked closer, no one would realize you were the one they were looking for, and all that mattered was that you were not identified. Tapping into the man’s memories, it was just one more set of rules to memorize. Those of a Lucian officer, burned into your being since Saptientia had joined the military around a decade ago. You knew every step, every drill, your next move planned for you perfectly. But none of that mattered, all this useless information rattling around in your head. It was all noise. You needed to focus on where you were going once you were inside the walls. Steeping too long in Ardyn’s memories had already cost you enough, you didn’t want to spend much time in this Saptientia’s head. Better the devil you knew than the one you didn’t.

Into the city you went. 

The interior was bustling, most of the streets, save the entrance to town, were closed off. It was a wonder they let you onto the roads at all, knowing the parade would begin shortly, although the tour was only through the main squares of the city.

All around you there was music, laughter, chatter you could scarcely hear yourself think over. Stalls around you sold toys and novelties, street food… It was a grand display, in the name of a man who had stolen the throne to receive this legacy. And nothing was as tacky as the statue in his honor. 

One of many, the silly decorations were built to inspire something in the hearts of those lucky enough to be Insomnian citizens. Unfortunately, it inspired something in you too, and you had to tear yourself away from it to keep your head. The noise and visuals were all overwhelming to your confused senses. Attacking during a holiday was strategic, but attacking during a festival for your long dead brother presented a different problem for you specifically.

Hardly anyone paid any mind to you, an only slightly unusual presence in this crowd, as they perceived the guide of the galant peacekeeper whose presence was expected during such an event. You inched closer to the edge of the crowd, standing in front of the entrance of a building.

“There,” said Verstael, in your ear.

“I don’t see anything,” you murmured. 

“Are you on top of the building?”

You shook your head even though he couldn’t see you; though he had some sort of locator on you, you were only an approximation of a point on a map. “No, should I be? They’re on the rooftops?”

“They certainly aren’t on the ground floor where just anyone can sabotage them.”

You supposed that made sense, but a new challenge waited for you above your head. The businesses that housed the amplifiers would not just be open for anyone. They must have possessed some kind of guard, even if you could reach the top quickly. And fortunately, you could. Not just by walking in, of course, you were certain that each business office required some kind of clearance to reach the roof that you would never possess. But you, Ardyn Izunia, whoever you were, you could reach the top single handedly.

While no one was looking, you vanished, ascending to one of the highest points in the city. Your form coalesced into a darkness only you could feel, carrying you through the wind where no one could see you. This was a skill you had picked up at some point, expanded on from the way you could step across a battlefield and warp to whatever location you wished. Your body regained its shape as you stepped onto the roof, still appearing to the world as a Lucian soldier, though one who had not been at the roof’s edge until seconds earlier. 

You were ready to make some sort of excuse before your attack began, or perhaps crack some sort of joke, but in the massive square, it didn’t appear you needed to justify your actions to anyone.

There was no one but you, the sky, and the barrier that towered over you. In the center of the structure was a massive statue, though you thought nothing of it. An absurd looking thing, it was just a lump of stone and metal. 

“The first one is nearly finished,” you bragged. “No challenge at all. I thought you said this would be difficult.”

“Well, I assumed there would be  _ some _ resistance. Perhaps it’s the occasion-- no one in the area, because they all have duties elsewhere, guarding the road or the king. ‘Peacekeeping,’” said Verstael. “Keep me updated.”

You only shrugged as you summoned your blade, the Rakshasa. The ominous looking greatsword fit so nicely into the palms it had been made for so long ago. You maneuvered around the tower, driving it into the delicate machines before you that powered the amplifier. Shutting it down would send the guard into a tizzy for certain. The secret of your presence would not stay as such for long, but one barrier was down. Perhaps that would suffice.

Oddly though, no one came to stop you.

Even once the barrier had powered down and was broken beyond repair, you couldn’t imagine what was keeping them, until you heard a cracking sound.

The armor that towered over the square cracked, and quaked, prompting you to look up. It seemed the armor, the garb of a long dead king, was not happy with you. Unsurprisingly, but to your annoyance. This would take longer than you had been led to believe.

The guardian reached for its prized possession, one that you recognized because you had its inspiration in your possession. Many pointed chakrams, designed to imitate the Stars of the Rogue. 

You laughed. Was that all? So this was Crepera, the masked queen of yore. Impressive, very much so. But this wasn’t really her. This was just a doll, compared to the real queen. It would not spare, or probably even recognize, another member of royal blood. Of course, your blood was as good as dirt, not any better than it had been before. In fact, generally speaking, people treated you worse.

The doll was nothing. The fight got your blood pumping satisfactorily. Even your coping mechanism of choice wasn’t meant to make this fun, but with no human involved in the operation of your opponent, it was easy to enjoy. 

There was no way your skirmish was going unnoticed, though. Below you, you heard the screeching of vehicles, and the insipid music that played came to a halt. Whether or not you had meant it, this unforeseen circumstance had brought the festival to a halt.

“What’s happening?” you called to Verstael, taking a moment’s pause to catch your breath.

“Whatever you’ve done, they’re taking notice,” he answered flatly, evidently not happy. “Can you manage alone?”

“Of course I can,” you said, narrowing your eyes and narrowly avoiding taking a blow from the statue as you stepped behind it.

You swung your greatsword through the air, pointing with it at the statue. Summoning something, using the sword as a guide, dozens of spectral swords seemed to rush around you towards the statue. The red hued blades clashed with the stone, cracking and wearing it farther, until it could no longer stand.

The stone crumbled and scattered across the rooftop square.

Television wasn’t very common outside of the crown city. Verstael could pick up a signal, but not get very good reception on his dinky little CRT set. Which was a shame. From the cacophony of sounds around you, you were sure your presence was being witnessed by something. Looking at the massive screens attached to the side of the buildings opposite you, you could see yourself. Well, you saw Mars Sapientia, the vanished Lucian soldier, and the image was hazy, but no one would stop to notice that fact. A Lucian officer was probably as anonymous as a disguise got.

The second the statue was finally dispatched, soldiers flooded onto the scene. They were of a slightly different caliber to the ones that you encountered outside of Insomnia, their garb that of some special order of the royal guard, no doubt. They still saw a former comrade, whether his face they knew or not, but you were no friend. To them, you showed not your true face, but the weapons at your disposal. A unique arsenal of weapons that only the royal family could have possessed. The Royal Arms, and your own Armiger.

Someone would see, and then they would know who haunted their halls. One glance down told you that the crowd was thinning out, being directed by crownsguard members easily. But the guards before you were of greater interest than the crowd. The people were not to blame, even though you admitted you bore some bitterness towards the unknowing masses as well. It was not their fault. It was the crown, and those who defended it. Even you remembered that.

You scoffed, letting your hands all too easily guide the soldiers to their fates. They would become creatures of the night and either disperse or die. It was laughably easy to change them, in the weakened states you reduced them to. And as you did, their memories whispered yet more Lucian secrets. 

At least, the vague silhouettes of secrets that even the guards didn’t seem to fully know or understand. These were more like rumors, passed between the guards. They were shocked, never expecting to run into trouble like this in their work protecting their king, thinking their detail in Insomnia would have kept them away from any real action. Now, they were left with hopeful thoughts of some rumor to fall back on called the “Old Wall.”

The square was again empty. All that remained were discarded equipment and the remains of the shattered statue.

The chaos had begun, but you had a task ahead of you still. How many of the towers were left, again?

“...How do things look on your end?” you asked Verstael.

You heard him hum thoughtfully, and tried not to picture him peering over the horizon at the Wall with nothing but a pair of binoculars while you waited for an answer. “Nothing appears to be out of the ordinary. Based on visual contact alone, the Wall is holding strong.”

“I’ll keep at it,” you said, as you peered around for the nearest amplifier tower.

That term, whatever it referred to, kept bothering you. You doubted any other guards could tell you much more, but… Short of the king himself, there was one person who might have an idea.

“Verstael,” you murmured, turning quietly to the building’s edge.

There was a long pause. You weren’t supposed to be using the airway for regular conversation. “What is it?”

“This… may or may not become relevant information in the near future,” you said, scratching your neck absently. “But do you know anything about something called the Old Wall?”

“Only a little,” he answered, his frustration obvious in his voice. “Lucian history is full of myths and truths alike, and far too many things that simply shouldn’t exist in a rational world. It’s difficult to discern fact from fiction, in texts.”

You rolled your eyes.  _ “What _ do you know about it, Verstael.”

He sighed. “It’s some kind of defense system, as far as I can tell. It seems the Lucians believe… that their ancient kings watch over Lucis, and defend it in times of dire need. What this means in a literal sense, I couldn’t say. Why?”

Something in your brain twitched at that, a scowl crossing your face. “Just something I heard from the soldiers. Is that all you know?”

“Why does it interest you?” 

That was a good question. You preferred not to feed that side of you anymore than you had to, so asking questions wasn’t very appealing, yet you were running your mouth anyway. Verstael liked to pique that curiosity in you, more or less for his own amusement, but you had had enough of it.

“The soldiers seem to put a lot of stock in it, even though their memories told me nothing but its name,” you said quickly. “It’s of no interest to me, just an oddity.”

That was a lie, of course.

You peered down at the street, watching as people were still being escorted away from the area. If nothing else, you had succeeded in ruining the festivities.

Over the noise around you, one voice stood out. At first it surprised you, but then you realized, it wasn’t just a voice. It was being broadcasted over the jumbotrons and speakers across the city. There would be no way you could mishear or ignore it now. Whoever wanted your attention had earned it.

The eyes, the hair. Traits of the royal family that you knew even from a distance across the massive screen. This was King Regis Lucis Caelum CXIII, successor to the throne of Mors Lucis Caelum, who had died six years prior. His ascension had been far too easy. The line of the Lucian Caelums were typically only children, ever since the mistake of your birth. Not always, but in the case of Regis, there was no one to contend with. No crystal to answer to. Even in the event of a set of siblings, the prize went to the eldest, without question. Seeing his face, the same features that nearly every member of the family bore, made your blood boil.

“Adagium,” sounded the king’s voice. You scowled at the name you had not heard in a blessedly long time, until now. In Lucis, outside Insomnia, the voices of the citizens held a different, stronger accent than the one their king spoke to you in. This one was lightly accented, with a familiar cadence, unlike the harsher imperial tongue. Both were differently pleasant to your ear, but in this moment you would have preferred silence. Why was he simply announcing your presence? “So, this is how you would make your existence known. I demand that you leave Insomnia in peace, if you can no longer be held.”

You were stronger now than you had been before. You weren’t so certain that the stone prison would hold you anymore, unless you allowed it, but your eyes sparkled with a malevolence you had not meant to unleash today. Someone was hungry, and you were at the beck and call of that hunger. It was getting exhausting to try and sate it. Worse still, to resist it. 

When whatever remained of Ardyn reared its head, you bowed.

A thought occurred to you, as you leapt off the side of the building to the ground below, stepping gracefully out of the air on one foot, careful to land on your good leg.

"The next beacon will be northeast of your current position," said Verstael. "I’m still watching the broadcast. Your cover is gone, but the commotion ought to bring more confusion than it will actually cause you any trouble. Proceed as planned, and take care of anyone who stands in your way." 

You heard and understood him, but you had different ideas about your next step.

A distraction sounded like a good idea.

"Keep your eyes on the broadcast," you said, but it wasn't a direct response.

Something funny Verstael had said to you once, years ago, popped into your head as you walked out into the middle of the avenue. The main road that led directly to the citadel was being flooded by soldiers, their eyes and weapons trained on you, even as you raised your hands while approaching, a smirk on your lips. 

"What  _ are _ you doing?" gasped Verstael, not as amused as you were.

You were allowed to walk directly into the center of their midst. Surrounded, the looks in their covered faces said that they had not yet decided what the best course of action was against you. 

Your hands raised ever higher, to the hideous sun in the sky. This was something you had never done before, but there was a first time for everything. 

For a moment, you closed your eyes, searching within yourself for something. A combination of the rage you channeled, and tapping into something that had been dormant and drowsy for longer than you had been free. There it was, you felt it. The tentative foundation of the covenant you had forged with the Infernian.

Perhaps you shouldn't do this so lightly, but the deity  _ was _ more or less under your command. For now.

With a snap of your fingers, you turned sharply on your heel as you brought your arms down, calling on Ifrit at long last.

Some of the soldiers closest to you gasped, shielded eyes darting back and forth to search for… whatever they thought you might have just done, but after a moment passed, you began to wonder yourself.

You brought your hands to eye level, frowning slightly at your fingertips. What exactly was the protocol for summoning an Astral? If anyone here could have possibly had any ideas, they certainly wouldn't tell you. 

A moment later, the wall of armored vehicles behind the crowd erupted in flame, creating a massive blast that blew away chunks of debris and asphalt and sent the crowd, including yourself, flying.

You struggled to regain your balance, summoning your blade, then throwing it a safe distance away to compose yourself. When your body landed against the pavement on the sidelines, you lifted your head to see the form of Ifrit parting the flames.

His hellish gaze was fixed on you as he passed, chilling you to the bone, but he passed you nonetheless. His hatred was palpable as he slowly walked through the streets, as he turned his eyes back to the soldiers who were now also fleeing for their lives. That amount of disobedience was… Frankly understandable, you were just glad it hadn't backfired entirely. Whether or not you would survive, the last thing you needed was a god who would relish in your repeated destruction. The gods did not forgive easily.

"Was that the Infernian?" asked Verstael's bewildered voice. "What are you doing?"

You looked across the street at the massive display screens above you as you picked yourself up. At least one of them was damaged, and the others were displaying static. Either the broadcast had been cut, or something had been damaged in the fire that was still blazing, burning at whatever was left of the fuel, and nearby foliage.

"Drawing some of the fire away from myself," you said, scoffing as you dusted yourself off. Grateful that Verstael must not have seen you get caught in the blast, or he would definitely have said something about it. “How’s that for divine retribution?”

"Continue with our plan for now," said Verstael, his tone a little more urgent than before. 

It sounded like he thought you were getting a little too distracted, and by all accounts, he was correct.

Your head throbbed with the sound of Lucian voices shouting around you. The king and his Wall… The significance of the Old Wall was not lost on you. You knew enough of the fabled Ring of the Lucii to know that whatever  _ metaphorical  _ significance Verstael was looking for didn't exist. If the Lucians believed that the Kings of Yore watched over Lucis, then it was exactly as it sounded.

The thing that urged you on confused you, but you were weak to it. It called for blood, blood, blood, blood, ringing in your ears until you couldn't think.

If the Old Wall could be summoned by the King, then you could see Somnus for yourself, with your own eyes. Perhaps boast to him that despite it all, you were alive. Or… maybe you would seek answers from him. Your sword hand twitched hungrily, either way. 

"No, I rather think not," you said into your earpiece, a slight sigh as you gave in. "I've been invited to seek an audience with my nephew. It would be rude to turn him down, don't you agree?"

Through the earpiece, you heard Verstael huff loudly with a mixture of frustration and confusion. As he raised his voice, however, you removed the device from your ear. It fell to the ground, where you crushed it under your heel, scraping satisfyingly against the pavement. 

As your blood boiled, you stomped in the direction of the palace. It was getting the better of you again, but you needed to seek relief where you could find it. The confusing mass of memories you had acquired wouldn't improve, but you were dying for some insight, and a chance to show off in front of your supposed kin.

No interruptions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're finally wrapping up the second half of Episode Ardyn! I had a lot of fun writing this, but I'm really looking forward to the next parts.
> 
> It's a little different from canon because 1) I think you only have to take down... 3 of the amplifiers to satisfy the story conditions, but that still takes longer than I want to write about or feel comfortable glossing over, and 2) I think the reader is slightly less aggressive but differently unhinged than Ardyn. 
> 
> I replayed the second half again last night just to go over everything again, because I've played the beginning more than the actual gameplay portion of the DLC, but I kinda only just processed (or re-remembered) that Ardyn didn't know about the Old Wall until you use the daemonification attack on the statues, which.... I don't really. Understand. If that's obvious and it bothers you for some reason that's fair and I'm sorry but I don't know how he can gain information from something he can't daemonify. So I changed it.
> 
> Anyway writing this is kinda cathartic so the chapter updates are obviously pretty sporadic but I'm having a really good time, and I think that kinda shows in that. This chapter is a bit longer than any of the others. Haha.


	19. M.E. 734-III-26th (day)

Once the fog rolled in, it was almost impossible to shake. 

You couldn't think without difficulty, your actions often irrational. You only had one job: to pave the way for the battalion outside to enter the city. Not only had you not completed that task, but you had created an even bigger mess to clean up if you ever came down from your high.

Every cell of your body urged you towards the citadel. To what end, you only had a vague idea, you hadn't thought that far ahead, but it wouldn't be a civil visit. At least, if the way you cut through the soldiers that rushed from the gates to stop your advance was any indication at all.

Once at the gates, you paused to rest one hand against the metal. You didn't need a rest, but you stopped to consider your options, however briefly.

Niflheim would probably consider you to have effectively gone rogue, but did you really care about appearances? You worked for your position because it was convenient, but no, at this moment, it didn't matter.

Your grip on the gate slackened, and a moment later, you warped through them. 

This was a poor choice, but a choice nonetheless. Even though your skull throbbed, you knew that you were here because of your own decisions. If you couldn't think clearly, it was your own fault for acting rashly.

You stood inside the citadel's gates, crossing over the bridge almost as if gliding across. Regis had issued a warning, but if members of Lucian royalty were good at one thing, it was having a sense for when things were about to turn sour. 

A vague nausea gnawed at you. Adrenaline made it hard to think of anything but moving forward, until you reached the top of the steps. At that moment, the heavy doors of the citadel swung open before you had reached a decision. It was being made for you.

There stood Regis, and behind him, a man with short brown hair, who you recognized as his Shield without digging through the memories of Lucian soldiers, following with a stern expression that made it seem like he had been trying to talk sense into His Majesty. Neither of their eyes softened any when they laid eyes on you, but you stopped where you stood at the top of the steps.

Your stunned expression quickly turned to a perhaps too cheerful smile.

"My dear nephew," you addressed before you could stop yourself. "And ensemble. How are you these days? Well, I hope?"

His eyes still perceived you as a nearly faceless soldier under his employ, but he knew better. Though he couldn't see you, you weren't fooling him.

"Adagium," he said coolly, his blue grey eyes hardening as they tried to focus on you. "I admit, I did not think you would heed my demands, but I didn't expect to find you immediately on my doorstep, brazenly letting yourself in. I was under the impression that you couldn't enter a place of residence without permission."

You chuckled at the joke at your expense, even as he denied you your personhood. He did not even ask your name, not that you would give it to him, even if answering to it was second nature by now. "I believe you're thinking of a vampire. I assure you, I am quite a bit more real than those stories. I am something different entirely."

"Really? What are you, then?" asked the Shield, letting the doors close behind him.

The current Shield was a man of the Amicitia family, as always, known as Clarus. You stepped aside politely from both of them, gesturing out to the courtyard. You could be cordial, even if you were inviting them to what would likely result in both of their demise. 

"Why, I'm _me,_ of course," you answered, letting them cross your path uninterrupted. 

After they made it about a third of the way down the steps together, you began to follow slowly, the sound of your footsteps causing Clarus's shoulders to stiffen. A surprise attack would be worthless with him here, watching Regis's back. Good. You were feeling talkative anyway, giddy by now with adrenaline.

"I'm afraid I'm not in the habit of losing a fight," you said apologetically. "I can't die, you know. No really, it's a whole thing."

"Forgive us if that doesn’t cause us to lie down at your feet either," said His Majesty, reaching the bottom of the stairs. "I had sort of hoped not to have to end this exchange by calling for your second imprisonment, if only because I know you will not go easily."

"Or quietly," you added helpfully. "I have my own demands today."

"Demands?" snorted Clarus, turning his head only slightly. "The King of Lucis does not negotiate with terrorists."

You paused on the steps to let them go ahead, still smiling. "Not even for family? We _are_ family, aren't we, Regis? I think I have the right to ask a favor, once in a blue moon."

"Now he's 'asking,'" Regis commented to the man beside him, as if you weren't still there. 

Once they were a decent distance from you, you continued forward as well.

"I am," you said, a little more earnestly. "I heard an interesting rumor from some of your finest, that in times of need, you have the ability to request the aid of the Old Wall? I didn't know what to make of this at first, but it's that Ring, isn't it? The Old Wall - they are the former Kings and Queens of Lucis, are they not?"

Regis paused, turning, but Clarus urged him further on. "How does he know about that?"

You stayed put, about a meter from the bottom of the stairs. An ache formed behind your eyes, prompting you once more to ask yourself what you were doing. Why were you even here? It would have been easier to just listen to Verstael.

"Unimportant," you said, shaking your head slightly. "I'm here, truthfully, to seek an audience with my brother, the Founder King himself."

Your brother? He wasn't even _your_ brother. Why were you so involved? You needed to get out of there, no matter what you felt, or how deeply you thought you felt it. These overwhelming emotions hadn't been this bad in a long while.

Regis was looking ahead, outside at the smouldering parts of the city where Ifrit had passed. Smoke hung in the sky, though the blaze wasn't spreading, visible even from this distance. "Clarus, I need you to focus on damage control. Someone needs to put that out and continue to oversee evacuations. You and your team--"

Clarus shook his head quickly. "The order has already been given. As your Shield, and your friend, I cannot leave you here."

_Ugh. Dramatic._

Regis sighed, but faced you. "I won't listen to the demands of a monster, and you are no family of mine. The Lucii protect Insomnia; they do not answer personal calls."

Your smile finally fell as the two men faced you. "No, I don't doubt it. He imprisoned me, after all, after he failed to execute me. Be grateful you have no siblings. It's better that the throne be a lonely misery, than a bloodbath."

It was too late to stop now. 

Regis called his sword to his side, Clarus at the ready with his broadsword, and you with your own blade. 

Fighting a King was different from any other fight you'd ever participated in. Save the exception of Somnus, technically, but it seemed combat had come a long way. The inclusion of the Royal Arms, which did not exist in the same capacity 2000 years ago, did change things, and the way Regis used his magic was different.

Regis and Clarus, as you danced, fought with a closeness that Somnus had not had with Gilgamesh, who more or less had filled the position of "Shield" back in the day, though it was not called that then. These two were definitely friends, but there was an unspoken kinship. Their moves complimented each other, and more than once, as they struck at you, they even traded their weapons. 

It made you ache for something, you thought, but you couldn't identify what, in your state of focus. You couldn't drop your guard, even if you didn't fear the consequences that might come if you lost. That didn't mean you planned to be defeated.

The bridge was long enough, but not quite wide enough, for three people to commence such a skirmish. More than once, the Armigers came out. Regis held nothing back, using his own spectral arsenal to run you through, leaving you open for Clarus to approach from behind. The afterimages of the blades remained lodged within you until they faded away, even once your body was already healed, but Clarus's attack hurt your pride slightly more. 

The exchange was wearing long with two opponents, but Clarus’s way of fighting was comparable to yours, in some ways. You surmised that your weapons were of similar weights, and, while you were quicker, you understood his motions. He used the broadsword to balance against his own weight, and definitely used proper form, but it made him slightly predictable. When he swung, there was a delay in how quickly the attack would connect. And that was when you warped behind him.

You swept his feet out from under him with your good leg. He would be quick to recover, knowing the limitations of his style, but you wouldn't give him the chance. You lunged at him, only barely flinching with each thrust as Regis's swords pelted against you like rain falling from the grey sky.

Neither Regis's arms slowing your movements, nor his frenzied approach behind you, stopped you from twisting your body, delivering a sharp kick to the side of Clarus’s head as you turned. He hit the ground, his sword clattering against the stone beside him. Whether or not he lived, you doubted very much that he would move from the spot any time soon. Like any good bodyguard, Clarus was the first to fall. 

The approaching attack was accompanied by a cry, giving you just enough of a warning to vanish again. 

Regis staggered to a halt where you had just been standing over his Shield. The king’s eyes were quick, and he knew how to handle the abilities of someone who could warp to the same extent as himself. He followed you easily, but by that point you were closing in on him again.

The muscle memory that returned to you was almost worthless. You knew what it was like to fight Somnus, but the way Regis moved, and with a blade lighter and faster than the Yaksha, this was entirely new. This young king was far more skilled than Somnus had been, but the exchange was still stacked in your favor. 

Even a good king was no match for an opponent who couldn’t die. If you fell, it would be only seconds before you stood up again to face him. Regis wasn’t so lucky.

As you traded blows, the sound of clanging metal ringing in the empty citadel, he was wearing out. You had to be far less careful, taking the brunt of his weapon as it bit into your flesh. It hurt, to be sure. There were visible wounds as he attempted to gouge you, but once the blade was removed again, the wound healed. Not a trace remained, save for the rusty residue of dried blood and scourge.

But if you happened to nick Regis, a surprisingly difficult feat, he bled. If you got lucky enough, eventually, he would run out.

This didn’t seem to deter Regis, who preemptively stepped in front of Clarus with a fiercely protective glare. If anything, he looked more determined than ever.

“A king protecting his Shield?” you asked, though you didn’t press him on the matter. You weren’t interested in Clarus. “Don’t you know it’s you I’m after?”

You advanced on him again, charging forward with your blade extended.

Instead of impaling the young king on your greatsword, a wall of brilliant swords greeted you. Before you could blink, you were already too close to stop it. You doubled over as the one directly in front of you struck you, the others to either side of it grazing you as the swords shot out in all directions away from Regis. 

The king stood over you, but for the first time, you had been felled.

No, not quite. 

You were weakened, but not down. Regis was tiring, you had done your fair share of damage to him. If you could just reach him, you could end this. That knowledge alone filled you with a new burst of adrenaline. 

A thought occurred to you as your body seemed to move itself, slowly, too clumsy for your liking, that passing the scourge to Regis might have repercussions. You had no idea what made your body immune to the disease’s more prominent effects. What if that aspect was hereditary? The idea that Regis could become like you was enough to stop you from trying, even though the scourge within you was screaming to be released. You ruled it out entirely, shutting out the noise with some difficulty.

Your ears rang, and as soon as you were able, you summoned your sword again. Regis looked satisfied with the extent of your weakened state, but you weren’t afraid of him, or anyone else, for that matter. If you were being honest, you felt better than you had in a long time.

One slip, the tiniest window as he moved to attack you, and you had your opening. Your sword ran through his side almost effortlessly. Gods given abilities or no, a king was, first and foremost, human.

Regis choked on a cry of lament, slumping to the ground.

Your blood haze was ending, your head aching and reeling as you came back down. At last, it was over.

Clarus didn’t move. Regis was… alive. Barely. A glance at the Shield told you that he would… _probably_ be fine? He was still breathing. What did you care, anyway? You clenched your jaw angrily. 

A small part of you was horrified and where you were standing, and what you had done, but it was subdued, being smothered by a rush of other emotions more difficult to identify. You should have stayed on task. 

The worst part was that the part of you that wanted blood still wasn’t sated. The prospect of seeing Somnus had sent you tearing off towards the citadel in the first place, but it wasn’t even for your own satisfaction. Whoever Ardyn really was, he really was a _blight._

You sighed heavily as you leaned down beside Regis. Admittedly, you felt the tiniest sliver of smug satisfaction, looking at him, but you hadn’t succeeded in forcing him to summon the Old Wall. Whatever that entailed. A growl of frustration left your throat as you rose to your feet again, turning away from the scene. You should be better than this, but the vicious ache in your chest made you restless. 

While you simmered, the floors around you were bathed in a pale light, and you swivelled around to see that it emanated from the Ring, enveloping Regis, in his unconscious state.

If you could stand to look into it for very long, you might have widened your eyes in wonder. 

The light faded, and from behind you, you heard a crash. What might have been music to your ears, if you had been the one to cause the sound, gave you a moment’s pause instead. 

You turned again, looking out of the courtyard, back into the city.

Towering even above the massive skyline was a giant armored figure, one that you had seen depicted in statues around the city. If some part of you couldn’t feel his presence, you might not have recognized the Lucii as Somnus.

“There you are,” you said, your even voice lower and colder than you meant it.

Seeing him reawakened feelings of rage that had just begun to smoulder into bitter disappointment. You barely felt your legs moving as you flew out of the courtyard, your eyes burning up at him, your sword already returned to your side. The guise of the Lucian soldier was dropped entirely. You wanted Somnus to see you.

“Brother,” Somnus acknowledged. “It’s been a long time.”

Spite clawed at you, loosening your tongue. Though your mind was reeling, you had enough sense to answer, but not enough to stop yourself from saying whatever first thought popped into your head.

“Yes… Two thousand years,” you muttered ruefully. “I would say I didn’t miss you much, but I’m the one who brought you here. I don’t think I need to tell you what it is I want from you.”

The tone in his voice was less accusatory than you anticipated, but that didn’t deter you from charging at him, gliding across the air to reach chest height with the massive stone armor that housed Somnus’s soul. Your arm already poised to attack, the Rakshasa came down hard against the armor, neither cracking the stone nor damaging itself.

Somnus raised his arm, batting you away like a fly. You fell to the ground, battered against the street. It hurt, but your body healed any injuries before you had a chance to catch yourself, leaving behind only a vague soreness.

Eyeing him as you stood, coughing, you realized that though the statue carried a sword, he did not draw it against you. He threw you aside like you were nothing, not even taking you seriously as an opponent. 

That did little for your mood. “Are you afraid to fight me, _Somnus?_ Can’t bear to face the monster you created, even after all this time?”

The armor knelt down, balancing itself with its sword casually. You could almost picture him doing the same, very human motion in life, but you truly wished you couldn’t. Somnus shook the horned head of the armor slowly. “I am not the one who made you this. Your power twisted you into a daemon, because you could not recognize the damage your selfish whims were causing, even to yourself.”

Your eyes narrowed further and you bared your teeth at him angrily. “I was well aware of what would happen - what _was_ happening - to myself if I continued healing the afflicted. What did _you_ sacrifice for your people, Founder King? Just your own brother and his beloved?”

Instead of charging again, your fingertips crackled with the spark of elemancy, drawing on your own power to create a blast infused with daemonic energy. He watched apathetically as you took aim.

“Would you stop?” he asked, almost tiredly. The stone body tensed when you released the magic, bracing itself. Somnus groaned at the impact, as if it really did hurt him, but did not move to retaliate. “If you destroy this form, I’ll simply return to my watch over the kingdom. Neither can I strike you down.”

“Not that you haven’t tried before,” you spat, gesturing at him. “And when you discovered that, you left me for dead anyway. Two thousand years, in a cave. Alone. While you, and one-hundred-and- _twelve_ of your descendents, and their families, have lived and died. Did you lock me away, knowing you would never live to face any consequences for it?”

Ardyn’s feelings were painfully raw, and left a bad taste on your tongue. You regretted that the statue wasn’t like facing the real man. It would have been far more satisfying if you just decked him.

“I knew nothing then,” admitted Somnus, stunning you momentarily. “Not until I received my calling did I understand… and once I died, and for a time became the sole guardian of my kingdom, I realized I understood even less than I thought.”

Pointing your sword at him, you turned with a small flourish, sending spectral blades flying at him one by one, for your own amusement. The fact that he seemed unfazed only made you resent him more.

“What was this great revelation you must have had?” you asked, still glowering, though a sense of foreboding sat uncomfortably in the pit of your stomach. “I don’t suppose you started to question why the gods chose to punish me for your betrayal, did you?”

Somnus ignored the latter half of your question, continuing his speech. “All of this… you, myself, and our line… This is all part of the will of the Six. You used to believe that then, even if you’ve forgotten. I admit… I imprisoned you because I feared you, because I could not kill you. And how could I ever have released you, after what I did? You would have finished me off yourself. And who was to say you would stop with my death?”

Ardyn’s response depended greatly on _when_ he was retrieved, but even though that long agony was just a blur in your own mind, you conceded that Somnus was right to worry. He had greatly injured a man who was used to giving everything to offer relief to others, and taken advantage of him. Kindness could only be exploited so far, and even a former savior expected some form of reward. Even if that reward only meant that he could live freely. 

“You can spare me your tearful apology,” you said facetiously, bitterness dripping from your tone. “Did you answer my call just to maintain that your actions were just?”

Somnus shook his head again. “No, brother. Whether or not my actions were just, both of us were at the whims of the Six. I could not disobey anymore than you can shy away from your own calling. I embraced mine in life, but in the end, it wasn’t as though I had a choice. And… I suppose I made whatever choice you had for you, albeit unintentionally.”

You considered that for a moment. If Somnus had never become king… Well, it was likely that Ardyn would have eventually turned anyway, at the rate that he absorbed daemons from the afflicted. But… there was a chance, a small one, that if Ardyn _had_ ascended the throne, he would have had Somnus’s role. Watching over Lucis without the promise of rest, or even an end to his long service. Your lot was a bad one, but Somnus wasn’t even living. 

But there was still somehow dignity in serving the gods. People respected Somnus as a piece of the overlong history of Lucis. And yet he couldn't even muster a meaningful apology, not that you were inclined to accept it.

“My imprisonment was the will of the gods?” you asked, stopping the slow onslaught of swords. “You have the audacity to tell me that my suffering is justified? Healing the people instead of letting them be burned along with their families cost me my humanity! Is that a part of their will?”

“I can't pretend that my role has granted me limitless knowledge, but… perhaps there are things that even the Six cannot foresee,” he said, sounding surprisingly pained. “I know that it took an enemy of our kingdom to free you, but I only wish your release really meant your freedom. I never meant to deny you your peace."

You scoffed at him, but you felt a twinge of guilt. You didn’t fully understand what he was talking about, but… it clearly meant a lot to him, and your presence felt like an intrusion. You were deeply affected by this particular aspect of the burden you’d been given, but when it came down to it, you weren’t the one he meant to confess these thoughts to.

“Is this supposed to be an apology?” 

“Truly? No. I… don’t expect you ever will forgive me,” he said. “I was the jealous, unremarkable half brother of the man everyone believed was destined to be king. There is no excuse I could make that can satisfy you.”

“Then save your breath,” you said, scowling. “You only feel pity for me because you died with regrets. The man you’re trying to appease doesn't even exist anymore.”

Ardyn would probably say the same thing, though he would have meant it in a metaphorical sense, rather than literal. As far as you knew, Ardyn wasn't anywhere, and wouldn't be, until your paths crossed again properly.

“You wished to speak to _me,”_ he said. “Is this your way of ending the conversation?”

You _wanted_ a fight, but Somnus had made it very clear that he wasn’t interested. He really wanted to come clean to his brother.

With an unsatisfying crackle of magic, you dismissed your sword. Your hands at your sides, your thumbs twitched listlessly, your head slightly bowed. What did you do now? This wasn't what you pictured at all. One mistake after another.

"I don't know," you said instead, quietly enough that you wondered if he heard. "This isn't right… I don't know."

You took a deep breath in, turning away from him, if only to ground yourself. There was too much to think about.

"...Are you well?" asked Somnus.

"Of course not," you answered, grasping your upper arms with your hands. "Look at this mess. I thought, at the very least, if I abandoned my mission, I would at least get some satisfaction out of defeating you. You won't fight me, your descendent lies half dead in the courtyard, and… I may or may not have burned a bridge that even I doubt I can rebuild."

"Brother…?"

"These feelings," you muttered. "Every time I 'remember' something else, I see a life that ended over two millennia ago. I see you, and every horrid thing you ever did. And I see Aera, slain by you, because of me. It’s like waking from a nightmare every time, knowing I had no control, that it’s all in the past. It’s repulsive."

Shuffling your feet, you turned back around to look up at Somnus, but you saw nothing. For a moment, you were alarmed, pouring your heart out to an open, if overcast, sky. As you scanned the immediate area however, and your eyes traveled down, you settled on something. A pale apparition of the man who had lived so long ago. Somnus had abandoned the stone form to show himself, perhaps satisfied that you had calmed down enough to converse.

He stepped towards you slowly, with a grain of caution. You didn't blame him for his wariness, but you didn't meet his eyes either, and you didn't move. Let him approach. It didn't matter.

You became surprisingly uncomfortable as he watched you, and began searching for a distraction.

"And Aera...The legends can hardly be believed, if you were thorough enough to remove me from every account, but they say that you defeated the scourge with the Oracle of your time," you said, continuing like he wasn't uncomfortable close to you now, shimmering so that you could see the ruined city behind him through his form. “Who was she? Another girl from House Fleuret?"

Somnus shrugged a little, stopping about a meter away from you with a concerned look. "I did not craft all of our legends. Your omission was meant to keep others from seeking you out, not as a punishment, but that particular piece was part of the fabrication. A new Oracle, indeed a relative of Aera's, was chosen who could heal the afflicted truly, without bringing harm to themselves. But when you were sealed away, it seemed as if it somehow appeased some higher power, be it the Six, or the scourge itself. Eventually, the scourge vanished. It was harder to learn that I might have done the right thing, than to have done it in the first place."

You wanted to be angry about that too, but you couldn't. Somnus had been arrogant, but even he respected the Astrals, in his time. What could you say to the idea that locking you away had saved more lives than healing them personally? Until Niflheim began its expansion, the scourge was evidently dormant, ever since your imprisonment. That was only if Somnus was to be believed, but a dead man no longer had a reason to lie. It cast suspicion on the gods, but no more scrutiny on Somnus than he already deserved. Maybe men were too easily manipulated. 

You chuckled bitterly, as if sharing a joke with him. Yet another secret you were burdened with. "So there was no grand journey to save the people from themselves after all. I might have known."

Your breathing was even again, but a heavy silence fell over you as you registered how intently Somnus was staring at you. Stress settled between your shoulder blades as you tensed yourself. You did nothing about it, instead looking away from him intentionally. Now that he was here beside you, scrutinizing you in a way you were a little too familiar with, you weren't certain what to do. 

"Ardyn?" asked Somnus, after a few moments passed silently.

Your eyes flitted over to him reluctantly in acknowledgement, but you gave no verbal answer. Was that the first time he had addressed you by name?

"You lack my brother's resolve," he said, making you uncertain of how long he had been suspicious. "...Are you really Ardyn Lucis Caelum?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this one is so long!!! I kept struggling with it, but there was a lot I wanted to squeeze in so the next chapter had more room to breathe.
> 
> For one thing it's always kind of bothered me that Clarus is just a convenient establishment for Gladio-- I don't really Care about him, but on the other hand, his voice was put into this DLC intentionally, to show the response to Ardyn's attack and to acknowledge that he still exists, tbh, basically. But when Ardyn faces Regis, he's alone. They make a big deal out of Ardyn taking out most of the Crownsguard, especially right once you get to the gate, but it seemed... Silly. Isn't that what Clarus's job is. So I threw him in here, I hope no one minds.
> 
> Writing the bit with Somnus was fun though, tbh. It was hard to decide how Somnus would be able to recognize that something was off, since the reader is pretty convincing and more than a little confused. Maybe being near Lucis just has that effect on them? 
> 
> Anyway, if you're still here, reading for this long, I really can't thank you enough!! I don't know if it shows or not (I think it does), but I've kinda been going through it between a lot of weird personal issues and, I Guess quarantine depression, but I've definitely been using this fic as a kind of catharsis. So yeah, I really appreciate all the views and kudos and comments! Thanks for sticking around!!


	20. M.E. 734-III-26th (dusk)

_ “Are you really Ardyn Lucis Caelum?” _

His question left you frozen where you stood as you studied him. No  _ living _ human cared who you were, only what you could offer them. You didn’t have to try hard to pretend you were who you said you were, especially not after doing it for more than a decade. Somnus was the only one who could identify you as an impostor, but being seen made a panic rise in your chest and ripped away any lingering feelings of rage.

Unfortunately, you must have been silent for too long, because Somnus narrowed his eyes at you. “Why do you pretend?  _ How? _ An Astral was released on the city, at your behest. Who are you, really?”

There was an unspoken question among the others.  _ ‘How did this escape my notice?’ _

You put your hands up to appease him, shaking your head now that you had finally snapped out of it. "I'm not deceiving you for my own amusement. I can't explain my situation myself; I don't even understand it.”

Somnus set his jaw, his expression not becoming any less severe. "Whoever you might be… You had better at least make an attempt to explain yourself."

“I don’t  _ know  _ how,” you admitted. “It’s been a little more than a decade, I’ve been trapped here. I receive memories from Ardyn, that have grown in intensity over time. I don’t mean to be misleading... but I can’t help the facade anymore.”

At that, he flicked his eyes away from you while he thought, processing your words. The way he held himself, placing one hand to his chin in thought, slowly pacing in a small circle, betrayed his status. He would have looked very much like one of the living, if not for the fact that you could partially see through him.

He came to a stop on his right foot, turning to look at you with his head tilted in expectancy. “So then… My brother - is he responsible for this?”

You shrugged, but it was obvious that his assumption was correct. Somehow, in spite of yourself, you felt the need to make an excuse for Ardyn. In your position, he couldn’t have held it together any better than you. Even without a stranger’s memories rattling around inside his head innately. Nevermind the ones accumulated from daemonifying others - it was getting rather crowded in your head, if you were being honest. But somehow, Ardyn had escaped all of that. You weren’t sure you completely blamed him for trying.

“What can I even say to this?” he muttered. He stood still with his hands at his side, looking down at the pavement; looking anywhere but at you. “This is vile…”

When Somnus began to apologize to you, he had started with obvious sincerity. It seemed like he truly wanted to reconcile, but now his eyes had hardened, filled with grief and disappointment.

“You don’t need to say anything,” you said, frowning, looking away as well. The blood haze was quieting down at last, but it left you numb and hollow.

“This never should have left the family." A flat statement. His tone sounded hurt, if not angry, and unsure where to direct those feelings.

You gave a hum of resignation. "But it already has. The moment I left Angelgard, it became a burden for someone else to bear."

"That may be, but it will be one of mine who puts an end to this," he said, slowly. "You must know the prophecy, don't you?"

Of course you did. There wasn't a person alive, especially outside of Niflheim, who hadn't heard of it.  _ "'When darkness veils the world, the King of Light shall come…?'" _

Somnus offered no explanation, only gesturing to you. "If this is how things will be… if my brother never returns… the prophecy cannot be false."

You frowned, trying to piece that together. If Ardyn never took his body back from you… The prophecy was vague, but you understood what he was getting at. Somehow, you were involved. You knew you weren't  _ anything _ "of light," and that left only one other option. The suggestion filled the pit of your stomach with resentment. For Somnus, for yourself, for your situation. Like being stuffed into a box that didn't quite fit.

"That… doesn't mean anything to me," you said, flicking your eyes to the ground as you turned away from him. "As established, I have no place here; I am not Ardyn Lucis Caelum."

As soon as the words left your lips, you felt something.

An intense pressure bore down on the world around you, seeming to come from everywhere at once and filling you with immense dread. Your legs buckled under you as a brilliant light enveloped everything. You looked over your shoulder to Somnus for answers, but he was gone. Vanished, into thin air, but not by his own power.

Your breath hitched as the very air seemed to change around you, sending your mind into a full on panic. The pressure came in waves behind your eyes, forcing tears to roll down your cheeks in a painful stress response. The fog in your mind lifted, reaching a sudden clarity, but at what cost?

If you had blinked, you would have missed the way the world blurred into a smear of colors you hadn’t enjoyed properly in a long time. The sky itself descended on you in all directions as Insomnia melted away from your vision. This was that too familiar void, in your frequent, but brief visits. But you had never before shared that expansive space with another.

Yet here you were, face to face with a being whose fierce gaze put a very real fear in the depths of your soul.

The Draconian.

Your eyes were too blurry to make out much, unable to focus on their features. You saw a swimming black figure, the gleam of blades and matte armor. To look closer only made your tears flow more profusely, and you couldn’t find your voice to speak. Instead, you let out a whimper of frustration, smearing the grimy tears from your face.

**_That a mortal, insignificant to the line of Lucis, would intrude on plans divine. What explanation have thee for thine impudence?_ **

The sound of the voice nearly split your head in two, its clarity causing more pain than the language of the Astrals. You weren’t sure what was supporting you, suspended in that space, but you were grateful for it. The pain might have knocked you over, clutching your head, if not for the force holding you upright.

“I- I can’t be an intruder, if I’m a hostage,” you managed, bringing your hand away from your face at last. “I’m not here because I want to be.”

**_The Accursed has loosed his bonds, leaving behind a scapegoat to fulfill the calling bestowed to him by the Six._ **

**_There is but one escape for thee. Reveal the whereabouts of the Accursed, and all can be returned as it was._ **

**_Thus speaks the Bladekeeper, Bahamut._ **

It dawned on you that the Draconian had not known of your existence until it was obvious that you were not who you claimed to be. And they still did not know who you were.

That thought was enough to give you pause, at least for a moment. It was odd to think that you were an unseen factor, even to a god…

But the gods had allowed Ardyn to be granted a power that prevented him from ascending the throne. Either it was an oversight, or a cruel joke. Not that the idea that the gods were mistaken had never occurred to you, but if it was the latter, then a god could be petty.

And a petty god could be a dangerous thing, to a vulnerable body. It was probably unwise to comply with a being who allowed Ardyn's existence to become such a misery. There was no telling if the offer was genuine, just because it was offered. The thought nagged at you: if something, for any reason, happened to your body, you would be unable to return to it.

If you just waited out your sentence, your freedom was guaranteed; it would just take longer.

A petty god could lie. Could you also lie to them?

“I don’t know anything,” you said, shaking your head. “I awoke in Angelgard, with more questions than answers about what happened. I don’t know why or how I came to be here.”

The Draconian was unmoving. You thought you spotted the white gleam of the deity’s eyes, but what little you could see of their face was impossible to read. You very much doubted the Six would emote the same way as mortals did. The realization made you even more nervous.

**_The disappearance of the Accursed hath escaped all notice for too long. Understand that protecting him will result in acceptance of his burden._ **

**_Should thee refuse this single offer, then thy fate will have already been decided, millennia before thy birth._ **

**_Once more, Deceiver: reveal the whereabouts of the Accursed, and thy mortal life shall_** **_be restored to thee as it was intended - free from Destiny’s binds._**

It was less of an offer than a demand. You couldn’t place why - other than your generally rotten luck - but you were distrustful of the whole situation. Unable to read the room, with no knowledge of what consequences would come of complying, you weren’t going to take the risk.

“I refuse,” you said after a moment, firmly.

A few moments of silence passed. Your awareness of the palpable divide in station between you and the deity deepened. A creeping pain settled behind your eyes, growing in strength until they spoke again.

**_Thou wouldst refuse, even knowing this to be thy only refuge? Know this: if not returned to the life intended for thee, it matters not who fulfills the role of the Usurper. No peace will come to thee until thy final moments in the realm of mortals._ **

Their words frightened you, but you had reason to believe otherwise. You had a plan, and a future. They were not all knowing.

"I will not remain in this body forever," you said slowly, gritting your teeth. "One day I'll get mine back on my own."

And then a feeling of silent amusement emanated from the War God. The mirthful sensation shook through you, freezing you in place once more as the god  _ laughed _ at you.

**_So certain are mortals of a future they cannot perceive._ **

Your pain intensified, tears flowing once again as your head threatened to split itself open.

**_Witness the path laid out for the Accursed. This is the written order of things, a prophecy even a Deceiver must know._ **

Your senses became overwhelmed as images played in front of your eyes, your pain temporarily relieved.

You saw too many things at once, accompanied by a certain understanding. A crystal. A boy, who would claim the title of the Chosen King. The man he became, his too familiar blue eyes sparking something primal in you. And then, your own demise… The Chosen King accepted his own as well, the hallowed throne became his tomb.

The visions you saw were several years apart from each other, but something assured you they were in sequential order. The fate you saw for yourself was a long way off, it seemed. It made you tired. Were you expected to simply wait for your own death?

Somehow you understood what the Draconian was asking of you. The bleak future you saw - he expected you to be its harbinger.

The scourge prickled at your fingertips, a cozy feeling within you as if the parasite was content, even proud to be of service. It was a part of you, even if you were still repulsed by it. The daemons urged you to wield them as weapons of destruction. There was little doubt that it would be satisfying, but…

The highest authority among gods and men told you that it was  _ destiny _ that Ardyn became a monster because of his healing gift. You were just another tool, and Bahamut was one more person using you for their own gain. Even the very gods were against you, but you already knew that.

"My reward," you said, unsure you should keep speaking as if it was your own voice raising these concerns. "For using the power given to me to heal, is to be cursed with this body? This was your will all along? And _ this _ is the fate the gods have chosen for me?"

**_Not at all. This is the fate meant for Ardyn Lucis Caelum, brother of the first king chosen by the Six, and Usurper to the throne of the True King. If this future does naught to satisfy thee, it is within thine own power to end thy suffering._ **

The pressure Bahamut exerted was immense, and only grew worse with their impatience. You brought weak hands to your head, clutching. If this continued, you feared you might pass out.

You somehow felt that Ardyn still wasn't anywhere in Eos, even though your body must have existed in some capacity by now. You couldn’t tell the Draconian where he was currently, even if you wanted to.

You were also suspicious that Bahamut's offer was unusually generous. The god offered it because you -your true self - were to remain an innocent; but you couldn't trust a god who just admitted that Ardyn's promised future was a lie. If adrenaline wasn't the only thing holding you together, the thought would have been far more terrifying.

If you tried to take the quick way out, Bahamut might seal your fate anyway.

The image flickered into your mind again of your face, Ardyn’s face, as the last trace of life left it, a faint smile curling at his lips. As if accepting this death; cold, alone, sprawled across the pavement as the King turned away.

It certainly was in line with the rest of the troubles that befell you. A miserable life, followed by a miserable death. One you wouldn’t stand for, if you had anything to say about it.

"I can't say where he is," you said again. "If this is the path meant for him, I'll walk it, but I will not be the one dead in the streets of Insomnia. I will take my life back from him."

**_So be it. Thy spirit shall remain in the Beyond, until the day the last king of the line of Lucis offers thee thy release._ **

In the Beyond?

**_The task given to the Accursed is as follows: become the darkness that smothers the world. The True King’s sacrifice, whose death shall see the light return - if thou wilt take up the mantle of the Accursed, grow thy shadow, and thou shallt be his adversary._ **

For a few moments, you couldn’t find the words to speak. Bahamut was asking for the hastened spread of the scourge. You used your power as sparingly as possible, if you were in control of your own faculties. The body you were given had only one purpose, as the Draconian told it. With your death, as the visions depicted, the starscourge would be no more.

Ardyn was a sacrifice.

**_What say thee, Deceiver?_ **

You supposed you deserved that, but what could you say? If you followed through, you would take your life back, and this life would seem like a bad dream. It was deplorable… but what choice did you have?

You felt something old and distant, raw, welling up in your chest. It hurt to swallow, but you lifted your head back up to gaze at the deity in front of you. The tears from witnessing the divine had only just begun to dry, but you could feel them pricking at your eyes again.

“I… will start his work for him,” you said, tiredly. The years of memories inherited from Ardyn, and from those you had already turned your hand against, bubbled to the front of your mind. They made you feel ancient. “But I won’t be here to finish it. I’ll find my own way back, and you’ll have your sacrifice. If this is what it takes, then I have no choice.”

**_The foretold prophecy will come to pass._ **

**_With thy departure from the realm of mortals, the King of Kings will be granted power to cleanse the star of its scourge. This purification will bring an end to an endless night, rewarding all with the gift of light divine._ ** **Only** **_then will thy spirit be extinguished, granting thee rest at last._ **

**_So it is written, and so it is ordained._ **

You closed your eyes, bowing your head. You shouldn't dwell so deeply on it; you wouldn't be sticking around to see the end, but still you felt your pulse quicken as you clenched your fists. It hurt, knowing exactly what you were to be.

You were a servant, a sacrifice and nothing more.

The thought might have driven you to tears if standing in Bahamut's presence hadn't done so already.

**_Now go. Fulfill thy calling._ **

Your stomach lurched as the Draconian took off, abandoning you again. At least his assault on your senses finally stopped with his departure. More importantly, the scenery around you was shifting again. No longer suspended by magic, you collapsed, grasping at stone under your fingertips.

The air smelled like the sea, before you could even see it. The cascading sky was vanishing, replaced by something very tangible. Overwhelmed, you put your head down against your hands.

You stayed there for a moment, against the stone, while your senses readjusted. There was a heavy weight in your chest, and a feeling of helplessness you had become unaccustomed to.

It felt like things always got worse before they got better, but you hadn’t felt so hopeless in a while. Though you swore not to die like that, alone and far removed from your old life, it drained you of any trace of the high you had been on earlier. The War God was disinterested in your plight, but seemed to have no faith that you would succeed. It stirred a familiar bitterness towards the gods in you, and did nothing to inspire confidence in yourself.

Everything was against you, you knew. But it was your own fault for refusing Bahamut’s offer. If he believed you wouldn’t make it out without his interference, you wondered if you could manage it at all. The only thing you could do was focus on the task ahead. Follow that, and you would have your way out in time.

_ Where were you, anyway? _

There was a light ahead of you, you realized, sitting up. Your hand met something cold as you pushed yourself off the ground, and you froze when you realized what it was.

You grasped at the object, heard metal scrape against the rock when you pulled. In your hand, you held a broken piece of a chain.

For a moment, you couldn’t breathe. It was more familiar to you in darkness, without the thin stream of sunlight coming in through the door, but you should have known this place. You should have felt the electric energy of the sacred ground. The whirlwind of questions and anxieties made it too hard to focus.

“The Draconian is taunting me,” you said, scowling. You got to your feet, feeling hollow. You ached for action, impulse setting over you. The chain skittered against the rocks with as much malice as you could muster. The ugly clatter against the stone made you feel better, even if it was only superficial.

Experts considered the Draconian a very impersonal being, with no written record of their influence. You weren’t brought here for your own torment, but it certainly felt like it.

It was a reminder that you, yourself, were at someone else's mercy. That this was your burden now, and you had agreed to it yourself.

Your hat was on the ground at your feet, tipped upside down with the brim facing the stone ceiling. When you picked it up, it was heavier than you expected. There was something inside it, a small black device.

_ Your radio...! _

But you had destroyed it in Insomnia, hadn’t you?

You held the earpiece with a delicate touch, putting your hat on to make your way outside of the tomb. The ten years since Niflheim rescued you from the cave seemed like such a short time, in hindsight.

No sooner than you had stepped into the light of the setting sun, the radio fizzled to life.

It surprised you, but the earpiece was picking up a signal.

Verstael's voice came over the radio.

_ "--unia, come in,"  _ he demanded impatiently. His tone was severe, but he wasn't as angry as expected.

With some reluctance, you put the device back on and answered him.

"I'm here," you said, calm.

Silence.

"Where have you been?" Verstael's answer came back full force. "The operation was to begin today; I've been trying to contact you since this morning!"

Since morning? But you had contacted him from Insomnia, not long ago. It crossed your mind that you weren't certain how much time had passed while you were speaking with the god. But… if it had been longer than a couple of hours, Verstael would still be angry about your behavior.

"I… left for Insomnia this morning, didn't I?" you asked, peering across the rocks, to the distant cabanas of the Quay. The reflection on the water of the sinking sun still hurt your eyes. "I only spoke to you a couple of hours ago."

"You never reported," he insisted, his impatience growing. "No one has been able to find you all day. This operation is under my command, Izunia. You're making a fool of me."

You hadn't caused a small amount of damage to the city in the time you were there. Why didn't Verstael seem to remember?

It… Really sounded like he didn't know what you were talking about. Between your radio returning to you intact, and the clear lapse in Verstael's memory... Did it have something to do with Bahamut's interference? It must have. That was the only thing that made sense.

You didn't know what to do but play along. "I really do apologize. I've… made a royal mess of things on my end, and I'm afraid I need a lift."

An exasperated groan. You would hear it from him later, you were sure, but that felt irrelevant to you at the moment. "I can't seem to find your position; where are you? I'll send a retrieval unit your way."

"...Angelgard."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay, this has actually been ready for a while now but I've been trying to decide if the ending is too confusing or not. I'll elaborate a little more in the next chapter so just. Bear with me for a bit, please, but just to be clear, the time hasn't changed, it's people's memories that are different. Side note: I don't think Bahamut can do things like time travel, because if the gods could change time then they wouldn't have to have things like prophecies that Take Time to build up. I know Bahamut can bring people back from the dead - but I don't think time travel is the same idea here. I think they disguise Ardyn so that you can't ask questions like "why didn't Regis recognize him" but I think in the first place at some point they said that Regis Does know who Ardyn is, when he meets him in Kingsglaive, and also, like... If Insomnia suffered an attack like that in the past, people would Talk About It. I think no one remembers it. That's kind of... overly complicated? But whatever, I didn't make the mess in the first place.
> 
> Anyway one thing I like about Dawn of the Future is the distinction between timelines converging at that precise moment in Episode Ardyn, where he's forced to decide whether to go along with Bahamut or not. The outcome is pretty much the same, in theory, but refusing makes Bahamut no longer see him as a usable pawn. The whole timeline thing is a little too convoluted in... an otherwise not very complicated game? But stuff like that gets me. 
> 
> So, yeah. The reader is set down the game's timeline.


	21. M.E. 734-IV-00

Inquiries into the events during your reported disappearance were a dead end.

Though your departure that morning had several witnesses, no one on duty claimed to have seen you. Verstael insisted you never reported for duty at all, and Invictia berated the both of you for your actions.

It would have been more convenient that no one remembered, you supposed, but it got even more baffling. The Lucian news cycle demonstrated that the city was still intact. There was a mysterious malfunction with the cameras. No footage remained; the festival broadcast cut out shortly before your performance.

It was as if someone erased your involvement altogether. You remembered it with as much clarity as you could, through the frightening haze you'd been in. It still felt real to you, even if there was no proof left.

You were fairly certain this was another of Bahamut's gifts.

There was no longer an embarrassing international incident to explain away, but you were still in hot water. With no proof of your cooperation, Verstael rescheduled the attack. The second attempt would occur in a week.

Nothing about the new deadline excited you. You didn't look forward to the violence in the first place, but now you simply felt drained. If you followed through, the dark thoughts that seeped into your mind would take hold again. That was the source of your troubles. Listening to your head was what had caused you to derail the entire mission in the first place. It was how you had come face to face with the War God.

The fact that you moped listlessly everywhere you went didn't go unnoticed, either. With nothing better to do, you were hovering around Verstael's workspace again. The way you had when you still lived in his lab.

He had no proper workspace in the compound, so the coffee table in his chambers was littered with handwritten notes. Some on printer paper, others on the corner of a napkin, with a few schematics he had brought along with him. Most days, the fervor he worked with would be endearing to you, but for now you watched him only for the distraction.

The two of you exchanged few words after your initial argument over your disappearance. That was alright with you, as long as he didn't mind your presence. You wanted familiarity, not to retread the same conversations again.

The room he was set up in was far nicer than any other room in the compound, reserved for high ranking officials. There was even a small kitchen among the three connected rooms. Most officials were nobility who came into their positions by way of nepotism. That kind of crowd relied too heavily on their staff, so the kitchen probably didn’t see much use. You used it yourself anyway, if for no other reason than to bring Verstael a warm drink when he was neglecting himself. Which was often. Caring for someone else was still easier than managing your own troubles.

The kettle whistled as you removed it from the stove. In the living area, you heard Verstael shuffling papers, scribbling something out (an error, perhaps?) then resume writing. It was otherwise quiet in the room. You would turn on the radio, but Verstael's work required focus, and he considered the noise too distracting. You didn't know how he could stand the silence.

Leaving the kettle to cool for a moment, you crossed the room to where Verstael was seated on the sofa.

You opened your hand to him expectantly, and he only flicked his eyes up at you as he passed the teacup and saucer, into your hands. It was sitting a fair distance away from him, still in the tray with the scarcely used cream and sugar, away from his notes. Verstael didn't have any taste for sweet, sugary things, and even less so lately than before. At least it appeared he drank most of the last cup, before it went cold.

He was working on a personal project, from what you understood, but he didn't elaborate much. As much as he loved to hear himself gloat, it seemed he was too early in the planning stage to divulge much of it to you. You didn't like when he kept secrets, even if they didn't remain secrets for long. There were always consequences.

You took the cup back to the kitchen, then set the tea to steep in his cup. The blend had an aroma that was warm and fruity, a tisane you were fond of yourself. The water was poured slowly and with the utmost care not to scald the leaves, steam rising from the plain white cup. You set the kettle aside and held the teacup in your hands with care, soaking in some of the warmth with your eyes closed.

You had to ground yourself in these small moments. The burden you had taken on might crush you otherwise. You questioned yourself, your purpose. It felt like reality was unraveling in your hands.

It made your chest ache, to think of the task ahead of you. Not only dread at what you were doing, but an emotional fatigue settled over you. You had heard many times that your abilities were worthy of some kind of praise. From Verstael, and from Iedolas himself on occasion. Though you disagreed with the sentiment, it was no wonder why Verstael's plans hinged on you. You were the only one with your talents, and you were… _good_ at what you did. It seemed like the more you absorbed, the scourge grew more potent. He seemed to be more excited about that fact than you were.

 _"Grow thy shadow…,"_ the Draconian had said.

They wanted you to exercise your abilities. To pit you against that boy, only for him to slay you in battle. Why bother growing stronger, if it would always result in your death? You knew why: the result was more about him, whoever he was, than you. He would gain some kind of power; _that_ would let him put an end to your life, where it had not been possible before. You knew deep in your bones that there would only be the one opportunity as well. Without the boy, or if anything should happen to him, there would be no rest.

It wasn't fair to have to plan for the worst, even if you didn't intend to be there when the end came. The conflict between self preservation and the heavy weight of eternity was equally exhausting. And it was all that god's fault.

You stood in front of Verstael with his tea, not realizing you had moved from the kitchen.

"...Do you think an Astral can be slain?" you asked, the hoarseness in your voice surprising you. It had been longer than you thought since you spoke.

At this, Verstael put his pen down.

"I didn't make any attempt with the Infernian. He was too valuable to lose, and too dangerous to provoke," he said, frowning at you. He took the cup from you when you took too long to offer it, since you seemed to have forgotten your hands existed. "You aren’t the first to suggest such a thing, though."

As soon as he placed the cup back on the tray, you remembered where you were all at once. Seating yourself beside him, you sighed.

"'Too valuable to lose,' and yet you let me wake him," you said, your tone a little too gloomy. "What you forced me to do to him…"

He leaned back against the sofa with one arm, angling himself at you. Studying you as always, but this time it was personal, rather than clinical. "You've been licking your wounds for days now. What's happened to you?"

You stared back at him with a dull look. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

"You're not still on about the festival, are you? You would probably be right."

"I know what happened, Verstael," you snapped, narrowing your eyes. You leaned against the armrest of the sofa, leaning ever so slightly away from him. "And I know your hypothesis is wrong. The barrier will still hold even without the beacons."

Verstael grimaced, but took the hint. He reached for the tea again, sipping at it while he thought. "I will admit that while I know your memory isn't infallible, I doubt you would forget the day's events the same night. But there is far more evidence against you than to support you. I don't know what to tell you."

"I failed once already,” you said. “I’m not concerned with whether you believe me or not. It cannot be done. Not by me, or anyone else.”

The two of you already had this discussion once. At least once. He glared at you. “You are the only one who _can_ infiltrate Insomnia. None of our contacts have the ability to compromise their positions, or could destroy the beacons on their own.”

“I got ahead of myself and lost control,” you said, shaking your head. “I abandoned your mission, and I only stopped because the Draconian himself intervened.”

“The Draconian?” His eyes widened at that, his expression considerably less stern now. “You encountered Bahamut?”

You gave a small shrug, as if it were no big deal, when it most definitely was, dropping the grip you held on your upper arms. It was difficult to process the full significance, your senses skewed by your personal rain cloud, hanging over your head.

“If you really did see the Draconian, you may now possess more knowledge about the most elusive figure in the Lucian cosmogony than any man ever has,” he said, incredulous. “There is nothing left behind on them, even in texts. All that remains is the name.”

“Yes, that does seem to be their style,” you said, scratching your head with a small snort. “But I doubt anyone should be envious of the encounter.”

Verstael didn’t seem to hear you, stunned as he connected the dots. “Is _that_ what you want? To kill Bahamut?”

“I didn’t say _that,”_ you murmured, looking down at your hands under his scrutiny. “I don’t… think that would really solve my problems. It might improve my mood, though.”

You heard his knees pop as he rose to his feet, twisting slightly to stretch out his cramped body. He moved into the kitchen, then a moment later returned with a second teacup. The water was slightly cooler now, but still drinkable. The gesture wasn’t lost on you, though. He may have wanted information from you, but he wanted it enough to humanize you. No one else stooped to that, and they thought you _were_ human. Most others you dealt with handled you with a delicate suspicion, keeping you at arm's length in their highest of spirits, and rightfully so. His offering still managed to stir a forgotten warmth in you, though it was unclear if he intended it.

He placed the cup in front of you, and you murmured a word of thanks as you deposited a couple of sugar cubes into the cup

He returned to his perch beside you, nudging papers aside to show that you had his full attention. “I want to hear everything.”

You sniffed, smiling wryly. “Will you be taking notes? I thought you didn’t believe me.” 

“I just may, if you have anything that merits putting pen to paper.”

While the tea steeped, you explained as much to him as you could. If Verstael already surmised that you were the harbinger of the prophesied darkness, he didn’t seem bothered by it, believing the tales of Lucian prophecy to be nonsense. Your role was to bring the world to ruin, and he might take issue with the idea, but he said nothing. You might feel more comforted if he did, actually.

And, you thought it best not to tell him the circumstances that had summoned the deity. The subject of your identity was one still too awkward to broach, in a best case scenario. No, it was better not to complicate things. You had already proven that you could be whomever you needed to be. 

He listened carefully, and when you finished talking, he sat for a few moments, pondering the matter himself. You sipped at your tea, watching him. He approached the tale like a new puzzle, deciphering it for himself. 

“This place where you say you met Bahamut,” he said, tilting his head at you. “You’re certain it was the Beyond?”

You shrugged slightly, holding the teacup between your hands. “I can only guess that it must have been. It’s like no place on Eos, anyway. It’s like being wrapped in the night sky, only there are no identifiable celestial bodies. It’s the same as each time I’ve ‘died.’” 

He nodded, looking at the ceiling. “Perhaps… the reason you always return to life…”

Your expression darkened, fidgeting with the cup instead. “You have a theory?”

“Sort of,” he said, wrinkling his nose. “I’m not superstitious, you know this.”

“I do.”

“But there’s a theory that I’ve heard, and even dismissed, that suggests that human consciousness is stored not in the body, but on some higher plane. I don’t believe such things, but… You are already a unique case, so it may explain a few things,” he said, looking down at the table. He pulled a few papers loose from the mess, trailing his fingers on them while he thought. “The Draconian seems to have suggested that _your_ soul is indeed separate from your body. Is that the source of your immortality?”

“Ah.” He wasn’t joking, of course. The man only had a sense of humor when it suited him. Besides that, even if the theory he referred to wasn’t true in a broader application, Bahamut _had_ said as much about you. That your spirit would stay there. Until it was freed at last… 

You turned your head away from him haughtily. It was a show, but you didn’t care if he saw through you. “You can’t really believe that. It’s as I said before: it can’t be measured. I can tell you what I see, but there will never be any evidence.”

“Perhaps not,” he shrugged. “But this does mean that it’s very unlikely that you can share this trait with others. I'm sure His Radiance would be disappointed, if he knew.”

"I couldn't," you agreed, not that you were inclined to make good on that particular promise. The world had no need for a despot who couldn't die. "I… can only guess why my body is this, then. I thought it was all because of the scourge, but perhaps it was the Crystal…"

The day Ardyn turned was the same day he was rejected by the Crystal. That was the only contact he had with the Beyond before that moment. You weren’t certain what about you made you special, that the Crystal bestowed you such a gift, even accidentally. You didn’t even know why you, personally, of all people, had been chosen for this game of Ardyn’s, even after a decade living like this. Now it was your soul that was trapped on the other side, instead.

"The Crystal?"

You nodded. "I was unable to ascend the throne, so the Crystal cast me aside. It's… sort of a bridge between realms itself, isn't it? If coming into contact with it isn't what did this to me, then I can't imagine what else could have."

"I suppose it's _possible_ ," said Verstael, frowning as he began reorganizing the papers into neater stacks. A strained show of resignation. "It pains me that I can't give a decisive answer, but philosophy isn't my strong suit. I don't deal in things I can't perceive."

You made a noise of acknowledgment.

Betrayal by Somnus was one thing. You didn't know what to make of him anymore. The anger remained, he was not without blame, but you thought your feelings might be slightly displaced. And in the case of the true culprit, it wasn't _only_ Ardyn who had a stake in it.

The Astrals were nature itself, forces beyond what humans could perceive. The legend went that after the war of the Astrals, each deity went into a sort of hibernation that lasted into the present day. It had supposedly been different once, but the ones that weren't deep in slumber didn't interfere. Since then, it was said that the gods no longer intermingled with mortals, making Bahamut's interruption all the more strange.

Bahamut had interfered, just this once, because the Lucian Caelums were _special_. Royal blood seemed to come with an exceptionally short leash. Bahamut offered you - an outsider - an escape, but not out of sympathy. They wanted their lost pawn, but they weren't so picky that they wouldn’t have you instead. The burden fell to whoever possessed these abilities. You were just the one who got caught in the crossfire.

Even when you were in control, some other force pulled the strings. What a miserable existence.

"Ardyn."

Your eyes refocused on Verstael, who stared at you impatiently. How long had he been trying to get your attention? You unclenched your fists, relaxing your shoulders.

"Please don’t mistake my preference for formality, but… I like it better when you call me Izunia," you murmured, feeling childish.

It was the one of the very few things you thought of as being yours.

"Izunia," he corrected, shifting closer to you on the sofa. 

You sighed again, then slowly reached your arm to pull him against you. "I apologize if I seem distracted, I have a lot on my plate at the moment."

You felt as he relaxed in your loose hold. He grunted in agreement. "What is your next move, then?"

"I haven't thought that far ahead yet." You really needed to, though. "But if you value my judgement in any capacity, call off the attack. Use any excuse you can think of to cover it up, but I know it will fail if it proceeds."

_Trust me, even if this is the only time you do._

It was his turn to release a sigh while he thought. "If I do, I expect you to do me a good turn in the future. This could cost me."

"It won't," you assured. "I'm prepared to use my authority to lessen the blow. Your station is secure."

Nevermind that you did so much for him already, all the time. Nevermind that the emperor considered him valuable, and no one else knew how to do his work. His career was never in any danger. You would give him reassurance anyway, even if it wasn't necessary.

He relaxed even further, resting his head on you while he thought. "Then it will be done."

The weight off your shoulders was immediate, surprising you that such a small drop in the bucket could make such a difference. You could sigh with relief, if you didn’t think Verstael had already had enough of your sighing for one day.

You turned to the side, inching yourself so that you could support yourself against the curved side of the sofa. You moved your other arm to wrap around Verstael as well, bringing your hands to meet over his middle. The fact that he allowed you to move him so that he was now partially in your lap was nothing short of a miracle. 

You weren’t really used to touching like this anymore, if you ever had been at all, but his presence was a constant. You were comfortable with him. Frighteningly so. 

“I see communing with gods has driven you to mania,” he rumbled, but he turned his head as far as he could to look up at you, as if checking up on you.

You could only smile at him faintly, exhausted. “You managed to ease my burden for me. That's worth something."

You needed these moments desperately. Small things, to ground you. Anything that made you feel, or reminded you that, in a roundabout way, you _were_ human. The soapy scent of his shampoo, the weight of his body against yours. The feeling under your fingertips of faded muscle beneath the fabric of his shirt, rising and falling as he breathed.

Simple comforts that any human had the opportunity to enjoy, if they chose. You had the chance to enjoy the company of another human, to be almost fully your real self, but something nagged at you. No matter what you felt, how you behaved, or the number of these moments you took in, you were different. Vulnerable, somewhere inside you, but with the weight of the world bearing down on you. You could never enjoy life fully, without the looming threat of your burdens.

It made you miss other things too. The outdoors, with warm grasses and sand, glittering waters in a sunrise. You… might have actually missed the sun. Niflheim had either too much or too little for your tastes, but you couldn’t enjoy it with your sensitive skin. Would that you only freckled, the way Verstael did in the sun. The man hated the light more than you did, it was a more than fair trade.

You lifted one of your hands to his chin, feeling the mess of silvery stubble as you turned his head slightly. His eyes turned up at you, as if they had been closed only moments before you touched him.

“Close your eyes, if you must,” you said quietly. “Pay me no mind.”

Verstael snorted, but did as you asked anyway. 

You were so close to him, able to touch him as you pleased, the man was relaxed enough that nothing seemed to be off limits, but your body felt too heavy. You studied him, his expression uncharacteristically mellow as you cupped his face.

"You aren't a fool, Verstael," you murmured, prompting his eyes to fly open again.

"What." His brow creased slightly, deeper than it once had been. You smoothed the crease with your thumb, frowning.

"You understand what I must do, don't you? You may not be superstitious, but the fact remains that gods and monsters are real," you said, relaxing your hold on him when he started to turn over to see you better. "I'm real. Whatever the cause for my condition may be, it's real too. Even if you doubt me, and I sincerely wish you wouldn't, I've been given an inescapable task by a higher power. I don't feel I can ignore it."

He turned himself further, practically lying on top of you now as you spoke. "You speak of the Lucians' prophecy?"

A silent nod.

"Answer me honestly then: what do you make of it? In this supposed grand epic, who do you believe to be your hero?" he asked, propping up his head with one hand.

"No one currently among the living," you said, hesitant. "Bahamut showed me… certain things. I've seen the young man meant to become the Chosen King. As I'm sure you're aware, though, the current king has no heir. It will be some time still before the Draconian expects results."

"So you say," he mumbled, closing his eyes in thought. "Do you believe this person to be a Lucian heir?"

"I believe… the prophecy is quite a bit more literal than most seem to think." You were reluctant to offer more information, but Verstael's interests were narrow, despite his ruthlessly inquisitive nature. And it was cathartic, at any rate. "The Chosen King must be just that: a king. And I… have been deemed irrelevant, except as a tool for the gods."

He scoffed at that, his lip curling slightly. "What happens if you don't comply? If it pains you so much, what's forcing you?"

You smiled at him weakly. "I know you aren’t encouraging me to hold back. You wish to use me, still, to bring destruction to Lucis. You would thrive in a world of nothing but darkness. I don't think you would stop me if you could."

"Izunia," he mumbled, somewhat impatiently. You were right, then. 

"Nothing is forcing me," you sighed. "If the gods could destroy me for being an affront to nature, I'm almost certain they would have by now. But…"

"But what?"

"Essentially, this King will be my death," you said wearily, closing your eyes. "If I let this pass and do nothing, I will live like this forever. My understanding of the situation is very clear: if the True King isn't the one to kill me himself, I will never have another opportunity to rest."

What a frightening thought, even if by then it would be Ardyn inhabiting his own body once again. You still had to do half the work yourself.

When your eyes refocused on Verstael, he was scowling at you. Not with malice, but anger nonetheless. "Is _that_ what you want? To die, because some being who hasn't had contact with humanity since the beginning of recorded history said you must?"

You shrugged a little, feeling pathetically small. "If I did, I wouldn’t want to die like that. I would go on my own terms, if it were up to me, but… That is, if you could choose, how would _you_ die?"

"In a blaze of glory, if I must concede to my own mortality," he said, barely even blinking. "And you?"

Another shrug, you glanced at the coffee table. "As long as I was happy, I think… I don't know, really. Surrounded by… friends, or… family, if I had a choice."

You lacked candidates in either category, you realized bitterly.

"Nevermind all that," you said, though your voice sounded uncertain even to you. "I just thought, perhaps, you deserve a fair warning. The task I’ve been given won’t create a favorable outcome for anyone, but the deed must be done." 

Verstael still frowned, but he relaxed again at last, lowering his upper half onto your chest again. You moved slightly to accommodate him, and cupped the back of his head with one hand, looking to him again.

He sighed, and his next words chilled you to your core.

"Burn it all down. If you're going to be subservient to an invisible being, at least make Eos remember you. Burn it. all. down."

He was still angry, that much was clear, but he was letting himself simmer. Whether his frustration was with you or his own shortcomings, he was directing it at you. You didn't want to think about passing time, but it was something that weighed on his mind heavily. He must have thought you were a fool for even considering that you may want something different for yourself, but you didn't need him to understand that.

Despite the coldness in his tone, you felt his breath on your skin, a gentle rhythm of warmth. Your fingers tangled in his hair, which, yes, looking closely, you were almost certain it was thinner than before. You savoured the contact anyway. The pillow underneath the small of your back, and the strain that leaning against the sofa's armrest was causing you. The way his full weight was against your body now, his elbow pressed into your side causing a tingling discomfort.

The support he offered your cause, even though you yourself were reluctant to begin your work. Not a tangible thing, but valuable nonetheless.

He was looking at you again, you realized. His expression was difficult to place, but intense. The look in his eyes was one you expected from conversations like these. Envy as he looked at you, only occasionally giving a voice to his darker thoughts, or perhaps greed. You expected this response, even though he let you handle him. 

Instead of moving away from you though, he pulled himself closer, craning his neck. He pressed his lips to your jaw at the first place he could reach, your eyes widening momentarily.

And then you pulled him in properly, your arms wrapped around him once again. 

Oh, you were going to cling to this one for as long as you could.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one got really long, haha. I kept rewriting it over and over again because I couldn't get the tone right, but I'm finally pretty satisfied with it. 
> 
> Thank you for reading!!


	22. M.E. 734-XX-00 to 735-X-08

“You can’t mean to funnel all of our current resources into the magitek project?” asked the Director of Finance.

“That is exactly what I’m suggesting,” you said. Your act was nearly perfected. “Our nation has been on the decline for some time now. It can very easily be said that it is due to our lax attitude towards nations whose borders we’ve already broached.”

“Hardly- it is our lack of attention to our own population. The programs that have been canceled due to lack of funding - Your Radiance, we should focus all of our attention on the homeland that we know, rather than these--these _ experiments.” _

You silenced the naysayers easily, always with a smile. “Sir councilman, I must apologize, but isn’t it rather presumptuous to make such a bold request to our ruler? I am not unaware of the fact that I’m still rather new to the game, compared to many of my seniors, but our support has never been stronger. If attention to those within our borders has relaxed beyond what is reasonable, then it can only be because that we have been too soft on our expanded territories.”

You glanced to one, your most surprising ally in this time. “Don’t you agree, Madame Invictia?”

“We certainly have the troops to spare,” she supposed, thinking. “But-”

“All thanks to Minister Besithia’s labours, don’t we all agree? None of this would be possible without him, after all,” you said, raising your arms. “The number of magitek troops in our ranks are merely supplemental at this stage, a small handful of flesh and blood soldiers are unavoidable, to keep those that make it past approval in check. But he is responsible for our success, almost solely.”

“The sheer number of victories we’ve had since he’s stepped back to focus on advancements in magitek research is impressive,” agreed Dulcis, humming. Your eyes darted between those of the rest of the council, seeking a challenge.

“That, I argue, is more than enough to assure our further success, by nudging a little donation to our boys in R&D, isn’t it? Fewer of our citizens will have to face the dangers of military life,” you called. “After all, that is what magitek was created for. To give the people autonomy, and ensure they no longer had to suffer through unsafe labour. The average citizen of today need not be shipped off to a battlefield on enemy lands.”

You looked to Iedolas. His gaze was on you, the approval you seemed to be earning from him surprising. You could almost see the gears of his mind turning, going from tired frustration to a slow acknowledgement. As if relieved to have reached a conclusion.

For a moment, a faint humanoid outline flickered behind him, prismatic colors dancing in the corner of your eye until you blinked it away. You swiped at one of your eyes with the back of your hand. You admitted you weren’t sleeping well, as always, but you hardly  _ needed _ it. Lack of it shouldn’t cause you to see things.

“It is a sign of a prosperous nation, when we have no need to rip families from each other to further our growth,” Iedolas said, almost sleepily, like he wished he were anywhere but the stuffy meeting hall. “Minister Besithia’s service  _ has _ proven invaluable. If more funding is required in order to… create this weapon that will allow us to bypass the Wall of Lucis, then more funding must be granted.”

_ Success! _

"As always, words cannot express my gratitude, Your Radiance," you purred, looking at him. It was hard not to act on the urge to preen yourself just a little, making you wonder if you were hiding your pride at all. "I know the Minister will be pleased to hear your decision. I'll update him the moment I send my correspondence. The schematics may require their own presentation - I'm afraid even I don't fully understand the workings of his research. But it's the spending report I'm sure our dear Director of Finance is interested to hear. I will personally deliver the paperwork on that to your desk tomorrow morning."

Your voice seemed too far away as you spoke. If you had meant to say more, it seemed distant as your eyes settled on nothing once more. It seemed like a veil had come to rest over the room, behind the shoulder of the Director's chair, that flicker of light ghosting across your view.

You were working too hard, perhaps. Though it really never felt like work, since it came so naturally. Everyone needed to rest eventually, right? Even you?

You nodded your head at the Director instead, then seated yourself once again for the duration of the meeting.

Iedolas’s board of advisors had slowly lost what favor they held in his eyes, and he now frequently relied on your personal opinion, which you were all too happy to give. Which led to your sudden popularity, as they tried to appeal to you, since the emperor no longer listened to them. They argued, even bargained. No matter what your true opinions were, you had a clear goal, and your stances reflected that goal. The back and forth was tiresome, when you had already made up your mind.

You rubbed your neck as you strolled out of the meeting hall alone, moving in the direction of your quarters. The weather was annoyingly stuffy, but the meeting had run rather long, and now the sun was beginning to sink in the sky. It wouldn’t be long before the temperature plummeted. The joys of living in a ruthless desert never ceased. 

But it  _ was _ strangely early for a chill to be creeping into the air so soon.

You pulled your collar a little closer, tucking your scarf carefully. A little nip in the air never hurt anyone, but your discomfort was dwarfed by your unease.

Rounding the corner in the hallway, you came face to face with a woman.

She stood perfectly still in the hall, not coming from or going anywhere. Just standing. Directly enough in your path that you had to come to a halt before you collided. Here, the cold seemed to have suddenly dissipated, but she didn’t even flinch at your abrupt stop. When she slowly lifted her head towards you, the motion alone held a frightening amount of poise.

“Apologies,” you murmured, though you glanced at her with some scrutiny. She wasn't familiar to you, and you weren’t entirely certain she was meant to be within the keep. There were already whispers that Lucis had launched a campaign of espionage against Niflheim. It was unlikely a Lucian spy would find juicy imperial secrets by standing in the middle of a hallway for you to trip over, but it  _ was _ suspect. 

As you started to pass by her anyway, she said one word that stopped you in your tracks.

“Deceiver.”

You looked her over again. "Excuse me?"

She wasn’t really dressed for the weather, with long sleeves, but bare upper thighs. Her long, dark hair, and her surprisingly warm green eyes that stared through you.

"The Deceiver, whose misfortune it is to inherit the duties of the Usurper," she murmured.

"I mean to deceive no one," you said under your breath, stepping back from her. "Who are you?"

"Gentiana," she said. "High Messenger, and now friend to House Fleuret."

Her lips curved into a slight smile, and you forced the gnawing feeling in your stomach to silence itself. You had no patience for old memories today. The mention of the family itself meant little to Ardyn, and less to you. You wondered if she mentioned the name to hurt you or make you docile. More importantly, this woman claimed to be a messenger to the gods.  _ The _ messenger to the gods.

"And it seems you already know who I am. Am I really that popular?"

"The role of the high messenger is to commune with mortals in the gods' steads. The Deceiver is… unprecedented. Our company may be expected from time to time."

"I am not deceiving anyone," you insisted, straining to keep your tone even. "I was forced into this role, and I’m doing as I was asked. I have nothing to hide from the eyes of those whom it concerns."

Gentiana's eyes softened slightly. "'Deceiver,' the epithet bestowed to the one who inhabits the body of the Chosen King's adversary. It is not intended as a personal offense. Perhaps it is not fitting?"

Gentiana had not been openly hostile, a stark difference to the reception you had come to expect from the Six and their accomplices. She spoke plainly, but she spoke to you. If she was not sympathetic to you, it seemed like the idea did cross her mind. But she was a Messenger. Her alliance was very clear.

"And your message?" you asked, raising your eyebrows.

"Take care, Deceiver. Expect to be visited again in the future. The gods have invested much in the role of Ardyn Lucis Caelum, and wish to see it played well."

Your eyes darted around the obviously empty hallway, making certain no one overheard.

"If you must use that name, speak more quietly. It was hard enough getting the other council members to trust me at all," you muttered. 

When your eyes turned back to her, you discovered she was already gone again. Vanished. 

You were guilty of once or twice employing your abilities to misdirect nosy council members and slip away from them without their notice. Was this what that felt like? You snorted, turning away from where she had stood and back to your intended path.

Why not add one more odd occurrence to your daily life? You were beginning to get used to them.

* * *

The original magitek facility proved a success, and after several years since its opening, it received a sister facility. 

The new facility was nearly identical to the old, except… Except the staff from the original was now spread thin between the two buildings, at least for the time being. Few people met the qualifications to work at the facility, even as one of the faceless troops that guarded it. Fewer people had earned Verstael's trust. The hiring process to fill positions in the new facility would be slow going. 

The idea of two facilities, two samples of the scourge, and an overtaxed staff didn't appeal to you. A strict factory setting, even with a skeleton crew, still left a lot of room for human error, but… No, you weren't certain why it even mattered to you. Perhaps it would suit your purposes more if there  _ was _ a breakout. You had become a dutiful little lap dog, after all. Even if you despised your work and your master.

Your position was not insignificant. You had the Emperor's favor, his counselors had begun using you as a mouthpiece, and the richest and (arguably) most powerful man in Niflheim was the closest thing you had to a friend. None of those things were small matters. Your place in society was still dizzying, and the source of more than one headache. 

But your place in the world? Nothing was in your control. All the influence in the world couldn't persuade a god who had already decided you didn't matter. And the only aspect that mattered to you was the one you lacked control over. Any matter relating to yourself was out of your hands.

That was a good way to develop a complex, if there ever was one.

Summer in the mountains was one thing, but summer in the desert was quite another. At least the temperature in the second magitek facility had to be regulated. It was warm, but more manageable than outside.

The incubation room was probably your second least favorite place to be. The tubes that lined the walls contained clones in various stages of infancy. If you peered too long, or caught your reflection in the thick glass, a lump formed in your throat. 

The backlight of the tube was off, making it so you had to lean in close to the glass to see inside. It was strange to think that each of these tiny, barely formed creatures were all based on Verstael's genetic template. 

Had he ever been so small? Or had he popped into existence, already middle-aged and fully-licensed? The latter may as well have been true, as far as you were concerned. Though, you thought grimly, these days he was looking greyer than normal. Between the deepening creases in his skin and his receding hairline, it was expected, but hard to ignore.

Verstael cleared his throat, making you jump.

"I'll remind you not to get too attached to my creations," he said, shaking his head at you. "I'll not halt the assembly line because you caught a case of the warm fuzzies for a clone."

You swallowed the lump in your throat, glancing to the tube again, before prying yourself away and moving closer to him. "Wouldn't dream of it. I was… thinking of you."

He shrugged, as if the connection between himself and his unfortunate progeny never occurred to him. "This is a workplace, Izunia."

You smiled faintly. "That hasn't bothered you before. You seem more tense than usual, my friend. If it's sleep you're lacking, I can fill in long enough for you to get your rest."

“Leaving you alone with my life’s work won’t make my worries disappear,” he groaned. “And I don’t need a  _ nap _ besides.”

Your smile twitched. “Understood. You certainly know your needs better than I.”

Pressing him would only frustrate him more. You recalled that once, you had been prone to pulling all-nighters, often with no particular activity keeping you awake into the early hours. Seeing that behavior in him, even at his station, you wondered how anyone with a proper biological clock managed it. Once you returned to your own life, you were putting an end to those nights yourself.

He then led you to the console by the observation area. You stared through the long glass window. 

It wasn't especially safe to be too close to the equipment behind the glass. Sometimes, during the daemonification process, things got messy. The empty shells the miasma was being transferred to could go haywire themselves. If the miasma coalesced too quickly, sometimes a proper daemon was created instead of completing the transfer. The glass was thick and bulletproof, which was important, since the new magitek troopers were armed. This was the safest way to find out if they were up to snuff and safe to deploy. 

Verstael readied the console for the transference. You watched his gloved hands as he hovered over the last button, then pressed it.

A countdown began. Another safety precaution.

Behind you, the door flew open.

Verstael's lip curled, eyes flashing in barely concealed fury as he turned to see who was at the door. You inclined your neck slightly after him, raising an eyebrow at the soldier who burst into the room.

"Minister," she said, saluting.

"There had better be a good reason for this interruption," he said, turning back momentarily only to put his hand over the kill switch to the device behind the glass. 

"A visitor," said the soldier, shaking her head. She seemed… flustered. Or confused?

"A visitor," he asked, scowling, but his hand relaxed slightly.

She nodded, then looked at you. "For you, Chancellor."

You widened your eyes slightly.

Verstael's eyebrows drew together, perplexed. "We're isolated in the middle of an inhospitable desert, who could be here to see you?"

Despite that the incubation room was well regulated and the desert heat, when the door was opened, a chill wafted in. You felt it in your bones, more than anything, and an unbelievable, instant feeling of tiredness filled you.

"I… know who it is," you said, sighing. You patted his hand gently, nudging it away from the emergency shutdown button. "Play with your toys. Direct your ire someplace else. I'll speak with her myself."

"Her?" he asked, still frowning, though he withdrew his hand. "Is she… one of your guests?"

"I'm afraid so," you murmured, giving the soldier a small, acknowledging wave. "I'll give you a full report when I come back, if you like. Don't wait up."

At least now you understood the soldier's distress. The High Messenger's sudden appearance was inconspicuous, to say the least. She moved quietly. Too quietly, for some, including yourself. You didn't understand magic, it was something that you felt. But the High Messenger’s power was something else. She exuded it.

You stepped down from the platform and left him to his own devices. 

When you stepped into the hall, her presence felt even stronger. How no one else could recognize what was clearly supernatural in origin was beyond you. Then again, the average person probably couldn’t detect it, and was  _ certainly _ better off not thinking about it. 

And there she was, sticking out like a sore thumb in the dreary warehouse and all her finery. Elegant as ever, painted lips curved into a cordial smile when you approached, a beacon of warmth in the frigid air she brought with her. Her light almost made you forget what she was. 

You trailed your fingers across the rail of the walk you stood on, stopping just close enough not to be overheard. “What news have you brought today, High Messenger?”

Gentiana's eyes opened as she tilted her head slightly to look up at you. "The King of Kings has been welcomed into the world."

Your expression darkened despite your attempts to suppress it. You turned your head, looking for the faceless guard who called you. 

"Bring me a television set immediately," you said sharply, pointing when you finally spotted her again. "And get someone to find a radio. Bring both to me immediately."

With a sigh, you turned back to Gentiana. "You never seem to bring good news."

"It is good news, for the rest of Eos," she murmured. "The Usurper, and by extension, the Deceiver, is an exception, depending on one's outlook."

"Well, it's bad news for the boy too," you said, leaning back against the rail with your hands. You looked at her again, her too straight posture only a little unnerving by now. "But I'm sure forming your own opinions isn't in your pay grade. Don't mind me."

"He will be hailed as the savior of Eos. Even his eventual sacrifice will draw the adoration of his subjects," she said. "It is sad, but this is the duty expected of the True King."

You didn't agree with the sentiment, but you nodded slightly. Deciding to change the subject, you tilted your head up at the ceiling. "Forgive me, I can only assume that you've never been human before, but doesn't it ever seem to you that the world moves too fast?"

"At times, but it is the way of things. This world is old enough that there are few surprises left. Some things deserve to be cherished and mourned, others may fade into the background. We must decide which is which for ourselves."

"Is there anything  _ you _ cherish?" you wondered, looking at her through the corner of your eye. "Even after coming this far, it's hard to enjoy anything, knowing that everything I have will either be taken away or left behind by myself. You must understand, a little?"

"Understanding is not the same as knowing. Very few beings can claim to know that loneliness. Some of us have learned it with time."

You raised an eyebrow at her, about to press her further, but were silenced by the scuffling of booted feet down the hall. The soldier returned, bringing with her another, both carrying one of your requested items. 

You directed the soldier carrying the small CRT to set it up for you while you clutched the radio in your own hands, tuning it carefully until you reached something that sounded like news.

"...Grieving today, in the wake of Queen Aulea's passing," the reporter said. "The announcement of the birth of the Crown Prince marks King Regis's first public appearance since he was born, less than a week ago."

"Another dead queen," you muttered to yourself.

The TV flickered on behind you, and the soldier began to look for a program that matched the broadcast you were listening to already.

The picture was small, but there on the screen, you could see the King, cradling his infant son in his arms, turned at an angle for the world to see. The wisps of black on the top of his head, the peek of blue eyes… it almost broke your heart. You sent the soldiers away from the hall to resume their patrols, mulling over this new information.

"The Crown Prince, Noctis Lucis Caelum…" you murmured, unintentionally echoing the newscaster. Of course you knew  _ of _ the prince, in your time. He stayed out of the spotlight as much as possible, and you lived in an entirely different country, so his name was nearly all you knew of him, but still. How, in the past year it had been weighing on you, had you never connected the dots yourself?

It was easier to accept what you had to do without a defined amount of time to complete it. Twenty years until you could go back where you came from. That should be more than enough. More than you needed. You just had to make it back, find Ardyn, and then the rest would be the furthest thing from your mind. You wouldn't even have to think of what would become of the young prince at all. But putting a name to the face shown to you by Bahamut, as it flashed across the screen, it was almost like the prince were a real person or something.

"I don't have any say in the matter," you said, steadying your breathing. "The Minister's ends and mine are the same, ultimately. Satisfying his whims will take me where I need to be, but this business with the Astrals… I could do without."

"The gods would have the Usurper fulfill his calling, were he here. That is… they did not wish to burden an outsider with this path," whispered Gentiana, reaching with one hand to silence the radio. 

"That isn't the part that troubles me. Believe me, I know this wasn't intended; only one person is responsible for this," you said, slowly. "I simply couldn't afford to accept Bahamut's offer, knowing what I do of Ardyn's past. Who he believed he was meant to be, what happened instead."

"It would have been less cruel to accept it," she said. "Origin does not matter, but no one needs suffer a role not meant for them. Is this not true?"

You sighed. "Everything I once believed was a farce. If Bahamut is as petty as I'm led to believe, then I might have even unwittingly handed my mortal body over to them personally. If for some reason there  _ was _ any kind of altercation, my body could not survive. I know I'll be free of this if I simply wait out my sentence. On the other hand, I did  _ not _ know what Bahamut would do. Do you believe them to be trustworthy?"

"The Bladekeeper does not often bargain with mortals," she said simply. You weren't certain what that implied, except that she wouldn't give a straight answer if you asked for her true feelings.

"Bahamut wants their means to an end, the scourge personified. My colleague in there, bless his heart, wants a companion, a specimen, a monster. I wish… I could be those things, so I could move forward without it weighing on my mind,” you admitted quietly, standing next to the small TV. Your hand hovered over the power button while you thought, frowning. “I apologize. No one else knows my full situation, but it seems as though I overstep my boundaries every time I’ve seen you.”

“Sharing these thoughts may be cathartic, if one can find a willing ear,” she said, stepping closer to the shelf as well. 

"Are you offering?"

"Perhaps."

You sighed thoughtfully, switching the TV off at last with a soft electric whine from the device. "I feel I've said all I need to already. Beyond that, I’m doing what I’ve been told. Until it comes time for me to leave all of this behind, I’m all yours.”

Signalling the end of your meeting, Gentiana’s lips curved into a rueful smile at your jest. 

“Be in good spirits, Chancellor,” she murmured quietly. “This is not the end.”

For some reason, you believed her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think it might have been two months now since I last updated? I promise I haven't forgotten about this I've just been busy with a lot of projects in my spare time!!! So, there's definitely more ahead. I'm working on my notes again, so bear with me for a little longer.


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